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Biddy Finnigan’s Botheration ; 


That Romp of a Girl, 

— BY — 

/ 

MARY NOLAN. 

\\ ^ 


“A little nonsense, now and then, 

Is relished by the best of men,” 

— A Proverb . 


ILLUSTRATED WITH FULL PA&E ILLUSTRATIONS. 


ST. LOUIS NEWS CO., General Ai 




FEB 4 108! 

St, Louis, Mo. : / 2 '^ 

Ev. E. Carreras, Printer, Binder andI^jbd^^*'*' 

Noe. 117 and 119 Locust Street. 

1884 . 




\ 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tbe year 1884, 

By MARY NOLAN, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


/ 


PREFACE. 


This mixture of Irish pepper and Yankee salt is 
olfered to the public as an anti-dyspeptic dose. Prescrip- 
tion : When taken, to be well shaken. If the perusal of 
these pages produces one hearty laugh, a semPoccasional 
snicker, or a cultured “ te — he,” Biddy Finnigan’s Bothera- 
tion ; or. That Romp of a Girl ” shall not have been born in 
vain. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE. 

“ Get Thee Behind Me, Satan! ” 19 

“ Me Box, Me Wee Bit uv a Box.” 20 

‘•Divil a Thraine Will Ye Put on Me Back.” 25 

How Well Yiz Thought to be oft' wid Me Property while Me 

Back was Turned.” 26 

“To Think I Should Ciass the Salt Say to be Dhrownded on 

Shore be a Wathur Snake 37 

Bride Applies Mustard Plaster on the Wrong Man 40 

Jerusha Ann Shows the Countryman his Room 46 

“ This Here Room is Occupied, Gals.” 47 

Biddy Finnigan Pours Lard on the Hot Sp'der 50 

Biddy Finnigan Shows the Sick Frenchman “theOwldWan, 

Feerin’ it’s too Tough in the Legs.” 60 

Deacon Smithers Pouring the Balm of Consolation on the 

Heart of Sister Tucker 65 

Widow Tucker Respecting the Wishes of the Dear Departed 67 

The Widow Waded Boldly in, When her Oft* Leg Bobbed up 

Serenely and Floated on the Tide 75 

Extraordinary Manifestations of the Spirits 83 

Nora Shannahon’s BiU 85 

Enforcing Decorum on the Parish Clerk 97 

§ 

Caesar’s Predicament 107 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


5 


Page. 

A Race for the Sausages 114 

Biddy Pinnigan Catches the Great-grandfather o’ the Bed-bugs.. 119 

Cat Hunt 127 

Mistaking the Parson for a Warming Pan 147 

Taking Down Aristocracy 156 

Mending the Dude’s Kid Glove 179 

Money Bags Answer 188 

Biddy Pinnigan Struck by a Cyclone 193 

A New Way to Make Sinners Seek the Mourner’s Bench 197 

“;Biddy Asthore, Let me Out, I’m Begiimin’ to Simmer.” 230 

A Mother’s Love 243 

Delivering the Postmaster’s Butter 270 

Grandpa Weathersby Gazed at the Twins, Jerusha Ann and 
Sammy Carson 273 


GLOSSARY. 


A distinguished Oxford Linguist was asked to make 
some remarks, upon a festive occasion, before a London 
audience. He cheerfully complied with the request, and 
began an address in the Arabic language. Some one 
remonstrated with the gentleman, remarking that there 
might be a few persons in the audience who did not 
understand the language. ‘‘ Nonsense,” replied the Pro- 
fessor, “ surely everybody knows Arabic.” Believing that 
the readers of Biddy Finnioan’s Botheration, or That 
Romp of a Girl,” merit the eulogium of the Oxford Pro- 
fessor, yet presuming that a very few individuals may, 
through disuse have allowed their Arabic and Celtic cult to 
become dimmed, a glossary is appended for their benefit : 

Yxim-Yum. [Choctaw ] Expressing gastric gratification. 

Spalpeen. [Celtic ] Supposed to be derived from the ancient Sanskrit, 
signifying a tricky young man. 

Omadhaun. [Celtic.] An unhandy person. 

Pal aver. [Celtic.] Flattering Talk. Soft Soap 

Fiddler’s Green^ a region of the hereafter located on the confines of 
Purgatory outside of Heaven. The place allotted to sour old maids, crusty 
bachelors and wandering musicians, who have shirked the responsibilities of 
life while on earth. 

Mabouchal. [Irish.] My brave boy. 

Gumalouch. [Irish ] An idiot. 

Swaddler, a sect of itinerant Christians. 

Fitche-fotchye. [Celtic.] Derived from the Persian. Straggling, irregu- 
larly. 

O. K.f American abbreviation of all correct. 

Macaroni. [Italian ] Floor and water baked in thin strips. 

C’est bon [French.] It is good. 

Mais oui. [French.] But, yed. 

Parfaitement si tendre et si bon. [French.] Perfectly, so tender and good. 

C’est une grande cuisine. ]French ] It is a large kitchen. 

Qu’elle horreur. [French.] What a horror she is. 


7 


GLOSSARY. 


Encore. [French] Ap:aiu. 

Hunki-dorie. [Irroquois .] Satisfactorily. 

Bunko Steerer. [Rockey iMoiintain dialect.] A highway-man. 

Bough-nuts. [Yankee.] Twisted sweet dough, cooked in boiling lard. 
Muzzle yer hatchway. [Nautical ] Shut your mouth . 

Totin. [Negro ] Carrying yourself, 

Sprechen Sie deutsch‘? ‘[German ] Do you speak German ? 

Bologny. [Spanish.] A kind of sausage. 

Dudht'cn. [Irish.] xV short clay pipe. 

Nabochlish. [Irish.] Nevermind. 

Ni yava tirthi backsheesh. [Coptic. — Modern Arabic ] No other entitled 
to the money. 

Meum et teum. [Latin.] Mine and thine. 

Non compos mentis. [Latin.] Out of one^s mind. 

Sans ceremonie. [French.] Without ceremony. . 

Temp us fug it . [Latin.] Time flies., 

R’ldlm. [Irish.] Wandering free. 

Galore. [Iribh.] Plenty. From Semitic imported by Phoenicians. 
Crubeens. [Irish ] Pigs* feet. 

Ramshogin. [Irish.] Recitative of the imagination 

Hob. [Irish ] Bricks next the Jire-grate, where things are kept warm. 
Thraneen. [Irish.] A .small coin. 

Lingerie. [French.] Ladies* underclothing. 

Weenshy. [Irish ] Diminutive. 

Glueck. [German.] Luck, Happiness.* 

To send up the spout, Hibernicisrn for putting In the pawn office. 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE. 

Jerusha Ann was Borned So. — A Problem in Geometry Demon- 
strated with the Business End of a Pin. — Obeying the 
Maternal Advice under Temptation. — “Get Thee Behind 
Me, Satan.”— How it Worked 17 

CHAPTER II. 

Biddy Finnigan’s Wee Bit uv a Box. — How the Town uv Filla- 
medelfy Was Moved Nigher to New York. — Interviewing 
the Baggage Man. — “ Sorra a Thraine Will Yiz Put on Me 
Back; Divil a Shtitch More will I Wear.” 20 

CHAPTER III. 

Mrs. Weathersby has Company to Dinner. — A New Way to 
Make Pumpkin Pies.— Flavoring Ice Cream.— Jerusha 
Ann’s Experiment Results in a Divided Jury. — Emulating 
the Childhood of Illustrious Men. — The Aristocratic Little 
Fitzdoodledoms Riding the Great American Elephant 28 

CHAPTER IV. 

First Experience in a Rocking Chair.— “ Bad Cess to the Cabinet 
Maker that Med this Chair Wid the Heave-ho o’ the Ship to 
it.” — “Dhrownded on Shore be a Wathur Snake.” — “Divil’s 
Cure to Ye, fur an Iron Chist that Laves Me a Dissolute 
Woman, Widout a Shawl to Me Back or a Bonnet to Me 


Pole, in a Furrin Land.” 32 

CHAPTER V. 

The Weathersby’s Conclude to Keep a Hired Girl.— The Bride 
Applies a Mustard Plaster on the Wrong Man 38 


CONTEN rS. 


9 


CHAPTER VI. 

Page. 

Biddy Pinnig’an Answers Mrs. Wjeathersby’s Advertisement.*— 

“I had Two Karackthurs, Mam, but I Lost Wan uv em on 
the Ship Cornin’ over.”— Jerusha Ann Shows the Country- 
man His Room. — “Darn these New Fangled Beds Spread 
Around Three Sides of the Room for Style. A Fellar has 
to Split Hisself in Two to Lie Down in Comfort on ’em.’.. 42 

CHAPTER VII. 

The New Domestic. — Boiling Eggs. — Obeying the Missthrus’s 
Ordhurs. — “He is Hoppin’ Hot, Mam.” — A Delegation of 
Citizens Endeavor to Place Mrs. Weathersby in the 
Insane Asylum. — “ I Have Seen That Look in the Poor 
Dear’s Eyes Before.” 48 


CHAPTER VIII 

Biddy Finnigan Caters to the Invalid French Visitor’s Tastes — 
“Ye et all Her Pusheens, an’ I’m Afeerd the Owld Wan is a 
Thrifle too Tough in the Legs, Sur?” 53 

CHAPTER IX. 

Deacon Smithers Seeks a Helpmate. — Jerusha Ann Introduces a 
New Church Member. — The Widow Tucker.— Respecting 
the Wishes of the Dear Departed 61 

CHAPTER X. 

Jerusha Ann’s New Hat. — Biddy Finnigan’s Opinion of a 
Chrushed - Strawberry Peek-A-Boo. — “Where is the 
Dhrawurs for the Tay-pot.” 68 

CHAPTER XI. 

Diagnosis of Deacon Smithers’ Symptoms — Pastoral Calls.— 

The White Choker Period.— The Widow Sikes Baptized 
by Immersion. — Why that Romp of a Girl Recruited New 
Church Members 72 


CONTENTS. 


iO 


\ CHAPTER XII. 

\ Pag«. 

A Spiritual Seance at Sam Weathersby’s. — Extraordinary Mani- 
festations. — That Romp of a Girl Tries Her Skill as an 
Interviewer of the Dead. — Realistic Materialization of the 
Spirits Breaks up the Circle.— A Simultaneous Stampede. — 
Jerusha Ann’s Sunday-School Lecture 76 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The Widdy Shannahon’s Mercantile Correspondence. — An Onp:i- 
nal Bill. — Jerusha Ann Teaches her Fa a System of K* ep- 
ing Foreign Accounts by Double Entry 84 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Mrs. Weathersby Entertains Her Aristocratic Neighbor. — lliddy 
Finnigan “ Earns Frinch.” — ‘‘ The Roosthur is Kunnin’ Over 
the Cellar, Mam.” — “ Yankee flows Talk.” — Stewing Crab- 
apples for Tea 88 


CHAPTER XV. 

Jack Tar Enforces Decorum During Divine Services on the 
Clerk of the Church. — Jerusha Ann makes the Discovery 
that Mrs. Fitzdoodledom’s Back Drapery is Fiction 
Founded on a Stern Reality.” : 94 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Thankssriving Day in the Kitchen. — ‘‘Miss Lucinda, Will You 
do Me de Indignity to Favor Me Wid de Injection ob Yer 
Company to de Pawty, To-night.” — The Green-eyed Mon- 
ster. — Caesar’s Predicament 99 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Jerusha Ann Takes Part in a Discussion Concerning the Ante- 
diluvian Period. — Biddy Finnigan “Argyfies Consarnin’ 
the Antiquity of the Rale Owld Irish Factions.” 108 


COM ENTS. 


11 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Page, 

Jerussha Ann Interviews Hans Kippelheimer. — A Race for the 
Sausages. — “ Sp — Sp — Sprechen bie Deutsch ! ” — “Spitzboo ! 
BolissI Boliss!” — Yankee Doodle Wins 112 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Biddy Finnio^an’s Opinion of American Aristocracy.— “ Cook 
Accushla, Squeeze a Bit uv Fat Through the Kay hole to 
*us.” — “ Mrs. Weathersby, DaiTin’, I’ve Cotched the Great 
Grand-father o’ the Bed-bugs ! ” 116 

CHAPTER XX. 

Internal Revenue Collectors Have a Case in Court. — The Prose- 
cuting Attorney Drawing Testimony for the Government, — 
Mickey Houghlahan’s Evidence. — Sam Weathersby Treats 

the Crowd 120 

»■ 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Wanted Five Hundred Cats. — His Imperial Highness, Mehemet 
Hafid, Khedive of Egypt, Through His Agent, Mahamoud 
A1 Bascliin, Offers a Liberal Price for Cats that Stand 
the Bequired Tests.— The Citizens of Mudville Treated to 
Thomas’s Orchestral Serenades 127 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Jerusha Ann Joins the Church Choir. — “ Goodness Gracious de 
Pugs are so Pad auf dem Vindow” — Piofessor Hoffmeister 
S thops de Rehearsal 134 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Jerusha Ann Attends Miss Sawyer’s Young Ladies’ Academy. 
—Polishing the Rough Diamond 137 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Rev. Icliabod Weathersby Visits His Nephew. Very 


12 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Peculiar Idiosyncrasies of Mrs. Weathersbyin the Treat- 
ment of Her Husband’s Uncle 143 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Miss Sawyer Requires the Young Lady Students to he in Their 
Seats at the Second Tintinnabulation of the Academician 
Tintinnabulum. — The Stolen Sleigh-Ride. — Jerusha Ann 
Takes Revenge on That Pesky Tintinnabulum. — Taking 
Down Aristocracy 162 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Jerusha Ann Entertains the Rev. Ichabod Weathersby With a 
History of Her Pranks. — The Citizens of Mu dville are Treat- 
ed, to an April-fool Joke 159 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Mickey Houghlahan the Unseen Power Behind the Throne. — 

The Battle of the Party Flags. Hibernian Tactics 162 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Mrs. Weathersby Takes Jerusha Ann to the Sea-side With Mrs. 
Fitzdoodledom.—Admiral Fox Asks the Blessing to a Boun- 
tiful Repast of Clam Diet.— Biddy Finnigan Talks Irish to 
Jeannette. — Mrs. Gaston's French Maid 165 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Miss Weathersby’s Clam-Bake With all the Clams.— Oysters. 
—Jerusha Ann Tells the Ancient Story of Pat’s Interview 
With the Lobster Merchant. — “Oh, Pat! Whistle for your 
Dog! “ Arrah, Whistle for yer Fish, Sur ! 171 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Fresh Arrivals. — Alphonse Fitzdoodledom, the Dude, Asks Miss 
Weathersby to Mend His Glove. — Mrs. Weathersby Picking 
Out Matrimonial Catches 176 


CONTENTS. 


18 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Page. 

Baron Von Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld is Introduced to 
Miss Weathersby.— The Dude’s Predicament.— Jerusha Ann 
Teaches the German Baron an Original Compliment. — “ Dose 
Eyes So Peautifull So Bright! De Glances from Your 
Eyes, Mees, Make it Hell Wherever You Go.” 181 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Mrs. Weathersby Engages Her Daughter to Marry Baron Von 
Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld.— The Grandest Wedding of 
the Season.— Jerusha Ann Teaches Foreign Titled Paupers, 
That Some American Heiresses Take Stock in Common 
Sense 185 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Jerusha Ann Becomes the Belle of the Season. — Returning from 
Oyster Bay.— Biddy Finnigan and Her Moving Caravansary 
Struck by a Cyclone 190 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Deacon Smithers Revivals.— Jerusha Ann Weathersby Tries a 
New Plan of Making Sinners Seek the Mourner’s Bench 197 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Rambling in the Woods. — Ponto’s Discovery. — That Romp of a 
Girl has Compassion on the Unfortunate 200 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Biddy Finnigan Finds a Relation.— Jack Carson Invites Jerusha 
Ann Weathersby to Mickey Houghlahan’s Great Moral 
Show; “Combinin’ Historical Information wid Divarsion 
in an Illigant Manner 206 


14 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Page 

The Dude Alphonse Pitzdoodledom Consults His Mamma 
About Inviting Miss Weathersby to the Opera. — Not the 
Style of Gelle That Belongs to Owah Set, You Know, 
Mamma; But in this Howid Place, Evewything is so 
Fwesh ; ^She'll do You Know *217 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Mrs. Weathersby Tries a New Patent Washing Soap. — Biddy 
Finnigan Enters a Protest against Patent Articles.— Mickey 
Houghlahan Visits His Cousin.— “Biddy Asthore I^et Me 
Out I’m Beginnin’ to Simmer. Let Me Out Before I’m 
Biled Like a Lobsthur 222 

CHAPTER XL. 

Jack Carson Makes a Resolution Never Again to Exchange a 
Word of Civility With Jerusha Ann. — That Fourth of July 
Celebration.— A Lover’s Spat. — Jack Carson’s Love Letter 
Threatens a Famine ol Note Paper 231 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Jerusha Ann Gives Way to Her Feelings.— Cross Purposes 
Susie Smither’s Affianced. — The Bosom Friends Kiss and 
Make up 236 


CHAPTER XLII. 

The Proposal.— Equine Intelligence.— The Grand Military En- 
campment. — Hardee’s Tactics Supplemented by Mickey 
Houghlahan’s Cpmpendiqm of Martial Science 246 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


An Old Fashioned Lunch.— Biddy Finnigan Entrusts Jerusha 
Ann to Deliver the Priest’s Present 248 


15 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

\ Page. 

Random Thoughts on Wooing 252 


CHAPTER XLV. 

Tbie Dude Takes Unto Himself a Wife. — Honey Mooning at 
Niagara Falls 255 


CHAPTER XL 71 . 

Biddy Finnigan Gives Notice to Mrs. Weathersby. — Diplomacy 
in Marketing — Commercial Rivalry 259 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

Orange Blossoms. — Marrying off a Daughter.— The Floral Ban- 
quet. — Biddy Finnigan 's Philosophy Concerning Daughters 
versus Sons 265 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 


Conclusion. 


270 






\ 


4 «' 




0 


CHAPTER I 


Jerusha Ann was Borned So. — A Problem in Geometry 

Demonstrated with the Business End of a Pin . — 
Obeying the Maternal Advice under Tem^pta- 
tion. — ^^Get thee behind me., Satan .^^ — 

How it Worked. 

There was a dreadful smash up on the railroad. The 
collision caused a fearful loss of life, and a frightful amount 
of bodily injury. Skillful surgeons and physicians hastened 
to the scene of the disaster, to minister to the maimed and 
wounded victims. They bandaged broken heads, set dis- 
torted limbs, and splintered numerous fractured portions of 
the human anatomy, till at last, they came to a man with 
a crooked neck. 

The chief surgeon exclaimed : 

“ Bring the instruments quick, here is an extraordinary 
case. Vitality still remaining with a curved windpipe and 
distorted neck ! Most astonishing case ! Here, pull his neck 
straight, we may yet save him.” The wretched victim opened 
his eyes and pleaded : 

“ Please don’t, gentlemen ; I was borned with a crooked 
neck.” 

Jerusha Ann, the subject of this memoir, was in the 
same fix. Borned by accident, she had a crooked turn, 
and no amount of moral surgery was ever able to straight- 
en her. 

Jerusha Ann had no brotheren or sisteren, her maternal 


18 BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 

relative belonged to that progressive class of females, who 
believe in No. 1 families. 

When Jerusha Ann attained the age of five years she 
was sent to the primary school, and distinguished herself on 
the first day of attendance, by a demonstration in geometry. 
The rectangle triangle, equal to the square of the hypothe- 
nuse, demonstrated by a pin bent in an angle with the 
business end up, placed on the teacher’s chair, called forth 
the liveliest appreciation of Miss Prirhper, who jumped out 
of her seat, seized Billy Davis, the bad boy of the school, 
and introduced the posterior part of his anatomy to a hick- 
ory ruler. 

Graduating during the term, from tin can to willow 
lunch baskets, Jerusha Ann interviewed the contents of each 
so thoroughly, that, Wilson’s yaller dog was blame(J with 
devouring the pupils’ dinners, and a special police officer was 
deputed to lay in wait for the maurauder, and shoot him on 
the spot. 

Jerusha Ann’s mother was a church member. After 
her little daughter had stolen raisins from the raisin box in 
the store-room, and made a square meal on the Christmas 
fruit, she was so sick that a consultation of physicians had 
to be called to rescue the child from the jaws of death. She 
recovered, and her mother endeavored to instill moral prin- 
ciples in her erring daughter. 

“ Jerusha Ann ! Don’t you know it was stealing raisins 
that made you so sick?” 

“Yeth em!” 

‘‘Promise to be a good girl in future, and whenever the 
evil one prompts you to steal raisins out of the store-room, 
put on the armor of righteousness, and say ‘ Get thee behind 
me, Satan !’ ” 

“ Yeth em.” 


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“ When T was tempted I said, ‘ Get thee behind me, Satan; 
and he did, and pushed me ri^ht up against the raisin box.’ ” 


[ 10 ] 


OB, THAT EOMP OF A GIRL. 


19 


Jerusha Ann resisted temptation for some weeks after, 
but flesh is weak and raisins taste sweet. In an evil hour 
she fell from grace, and devoured raisins till she could hold 
no more. 

Her mother summoned her to appear and acknowledge 
her sin. 

“ Jerusha Ann ! Come right straight here. Did not I 
tell you, when the the bad man tempted you to steal raisins, 
to put on the armor of righteousness and say ^ Get thee 
behind me, Satan ! 

“Yeth em, but it don’t work worth a cent. When I 
was tempted, I said, ‘ Get thee behind me, Satan ! ’ and he 
did. He got right behind me, and gave me a push in the 
back and shoved me chuck up against the raisin box, and I 
had to sin ; that’s what’s the matter,” 


20 


BIDDY FINNIGAIS’S BOTHERATION > 


CHAPTER II. 

Biddy Finnigan’s Wee Bit uv a Box, — How the town 

uv Fillamedelfy was Moved Higher to New York. 

— Interviewing the Baggage Man. — ^^Sorra a 
Thraine will yiz Put on Me Back; 

Divil a Slititch more will 1 
Wear.^^ 

“Me box, me box! Will yiz take care o’ me box! ye 
spalpeens, an’ not be raspin’ the bottom out uv it agin the 
cobble stones in the street.” 

With her plaid shawl, tightly clasped in her right hand, 
her green stuff petticoat gathered up in her other fist, in 
order to allow the greater freedom of locomotion, her mouth 
wide open, stentorian yells attesting a healthy pair of lungs, 
Biddy Finnigan, a stout-legged, rosy-cheeked daughter of 
Hibernia’s Isle, kept up a vigorous run through the middle 
of the street, pouring forth admonitory eloquence without 
stint, as she galloped after a huge iron-bound chest that two 
stevedores were carrying. 

“ Can’t yiz have an eye about yiz, an not be tathurin 
the life out o’ me wee bit of a box, ye omadhauns 1 ” 

The din and hubbub always pervading at the. wharf, 
where ocean steamers deposit their living freight, prevented 
the men from hearing the bursts of eloquence intended for 
their ears. 

“ Oh, Holy Moses! Yiz are jowltin’ it, an’ ye’ll have 
the holy wathur soakin’ the sugar that’s in the yalla bowl 



■* 


“ Will y\z take care o’ me wee bit uv a box, an’ not be raspin’ 
tbe bottom out uv it a^in the cobble-stones o’ the street? ” 




120 ] 





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OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


21 


in the lift-hand corner, wid the way yiz are see-sawin’ me 
poor box.’’ 

“ Dry up ! None o’ your jawin’, or we will drop yer 
Saratoga right here in the street, ole gal,” was the rejoinder 
from the custodians of Biddy Finnigan’s box. 

Biddy’s volubility kept pace with her pedal energy. 

‘‘ Arrah musha, be aisy wid yer palaver. Why wouldn’t 
I be lookin’ afthur me bit o’ property ? ” 

The men deposited their burden at the Jersey Ferry 
Landing. 

How much do I owe yiz bys? ” 

“ One dollar,” one of the men replied. 

“ How much is that in Irish, sur?” 

“ Yank out the cash in United States money, ole gal. 
Darn my pictur’, if I know how much it is in your blamed 
Irish.” 

A gentleman waiting for the arrival of the Jersey City 
ferry-boat, volunteered the information. 

‘‘One dollar is equal in value to four British shil- 
lings.” 

“ Four shillin’s ! For carryin’ a wee bit uv a box, the 
linth of a bin’s race. In throth I’ll not give yez that, ye 
cormorants ! ” 

“ Come hurry up, we aint agoin’ to stand here all day. 
Out with yer dollar.” 

‘‘ Ha, thin now. Do you take me for the Roj^al, Bank 
uv England, or Queen Victoriah’s mint ? Faix, it isn’t lashin’ s 
an’ I’avin’s o’ mone}^, but a plintiful scarcity o’ goolden 
guineas that ails me.” 

“ Plank down the cash, ole gal, or we’ll levy an attach- 
ment on your bit o’ property and take the trunk for the 
damage.” 

Gripping the huge iron handles of the box, the men 


22 BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHEKATION ; 

were about to put their threat into execution, when Biddy 
yielded. 

‘^Lave it there thin, an’ I’ll pay yiz what yiz ax, 
though I’m thinkin’ it’s to Fiddler’s Green yiz’ll go whin ye 
die, for the usury yiz are practicin’ on a poor lone woman.” 
Drawing from her bosom a long stocking, Biddy Finnigan 
abstracted from its toe four British shillings, which she 
reluctantl}^ paid the man. 

Seating herself on the box and gazing at the huge 
rafters of the building, Biddy gave expi^ession to her 
thoughts : 

“ Glory be to God, but this a grand ship intirely ! It’s 
flawhoul they wur that built this cabin. Ye’d think that the 
bames was med fur Phil McCool or the jiants that lived 
afore the flood.” 

The ferry-boats continued to arrive and depart, dis- 
charging and receiving passengers, yet Biddy kept her seat, 
oblivious of her surroundings. She asked a policeman : 

‘‘How long will the ship be going to Fillamedelfy, 
sur?” 

“What ship?” 

“The w^an we’re on, sur. I see there’s a power o’ 
passengers goin’.” ^ 

The officer laughed as he remarked : 

“You must be a greenhorn! You go to the ticket 
agent over there and buy your ticket for Philadelphia.” 

“Is it the foxy-headed man in the dawnshee little 
cubby hole uv a windy beyant, sur ? ” 

“ Yes, that man will put you on the right track.” 

“Thank 3^e sur,” casting furtive glances at her bit o* 
property. Biddy Finnigan accosted the ticket agent : 

“Did 3’ou ever hear tell uv a place called Fillame- 
delfy, sur?” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


23 


‘‘Philadelphia! Yes, five hours’ ride from here.” 
The ticket agent unfolded a new package of tickets as he 
spoke. 

“ That news may be welkim to thim that has horses to 
ride, but the divil a horse I have, barrin’ shanks’s mare, 
agrah ! Couldn’t I get a lift meself an’ me bit uv a box, 
that I have here, abroad ? ” 

“ Five hours by rail I meant, madam.” 

Biddy looked nonplussed. “Maybe I could hire a 
cart to take n>e there, if ye’d show me the road, sur. Do 
you know where the town of Fillamedelfy is moved to, 
sur ? ” 

“ Philadelphia moved ! What do you mean, woman ? ” 

“ Faix, it’s quare ye didn’t hear tell uv it. Pm not as 
ignorant as ye take me for ; an’ widout any book lamin’, 
throth I know that the town of Fillamedelfy was moved 
nigher to New York. Shure it was me own third cousin, 
by the mother’s side, wan Judy Flinn, that seen it done, 
sur.” 

“ That’s a new racket. I reckon you had better take 
passage for Flushing, Long Island. 

The ticket agent regarded the woman as a fit candidate 
for the insane asylum. 

‘‘ Ah, ye needn’t stare at me as if I was an innocint. 
I’ll howld 3^e tuppence-ha’penny to a crown, thim that buys 
me for a fool ’ill be a long time out o’ their money.” 

“ What got that crazy notion into your head, that Phila- 
delphia was moved from its original location ? ” queried the 
agent. * 

It’s a wondhur a knowledgable man like you wouldn’t 
know all about it. Thin I’ll tell ye how it was towlt to 
huz. Wan Judy Flynn (God rest her sowl in glory), she is 
dead this twinty year this Michaelmas Day, an’ she was me 


24 


BIDDY FINISIGAN'S BOTHERATION 5 


mothur's sisthur’s daughtur’s daughtur ; an’ she an’ her hus- 
band, wan Patrick Quinn (a boy o’ the parish o’ Mullingar) 
kem to Amerikay, an’ shure an’ the discoorse wint an fore 
an’ aft, of what a great uprisin’ they got, fur they wor coinin’ 
money keepin’ a section boardin’ house fur the min that was 
workin’ on the road ; an’ the boss to wit me cousin J udy 
Flynn (may the heavens be her bed this day) , that whin the 
road was finished it was goin’ to bring the town uv Fillame- 
deify nigher to New York, an’ so it did sur. We heerd 
tell uv how they moved houses in Amerikay from place to 
place as aisy as ye’d dig a fac in a hillock o’ prayties an’ 
rowll ’em out, but whin the news kem o’ their movin’ a town 
it bate Banachor.” 

“You are a caution,^’ said the man at the window, 
laughing. 

“Ah, ye needn’t shtan’ there grinnin’ at me loike a 
Cheshire cat chewin’ hot cabbage. It’s thrue fur me. 
Yankee invintions does be churnin’ the wurld, and what’s to 
hindhur thim movin’ a town, whin they moved Johnny Bull 
from the howlt he had on their counthry ? Shure the loikes 
o’ that was never hear tell uv, since the year wan.” 

“ Hurry up and buy your ticket for Philadelphia before 
the boat arrives,” 

The agent handed out the ticket. The long stocking 
made its appearance again. Biddy Finnigan purchased her 
ticket, after vainly endeavoring to obtain a reduction in the 
price, “bein’ as she was a stranger just come to the coun- 
thry.” The huge iron-bound chest was deposited on the 
ferry-boat, and its owner seated herself upon it, without 
delay. 

At Jersey City the train dispatcher pointed out the 
conductor of the Pennsylvania Central train. 

“ Go to that man, madam ; he will fix you all right.” 



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OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


25 


“ Arrah, what fixin* do I want? Am n’t I fixed enough, 
wid me fine Dunstable bonnet and shepherd’s plaid shawl, 
not to mintion me new brogues, that I gave two shillins and 
six fur, the day before I shtarted,” muttering to herself. 
Biddy Finnigan was hailed by the conductor. 

This wa}^, madam. Here is your train.” 

“ It’s not mine, sur. Do ye think it’s takin’ lave o' me 
sinsis apin’ the quality I’d be?” Eyeing the conductor sus- 
piciously, the woman stood still in the center of the track. 

Remembering the wise counsels she had received in her 
native soil, to beware of the human sharks that betray the 
unwary emigrant, decoying virtuous women by seeming 
friendship, until they were lured to destruction, the maiden 
from Hibernia’s Isle stood on her guard, determined to. repel 
any advances that savored of undue familiarity. She 
remained standing in the middle of the roadway. 

Approaching her the conductor caught her by the shoul- 
der, saying, 

“ This way, madam. I’ll put you on your train” 

A thumping blow on his cheek from the muscular fist of 
the greenhorn stunned him. 

“Take that, ye disrespectful thief o’ the world! In 
throth ye’ll put no thraine on me. Divil a shtitch more will 
1 wear than what’s on me back ! I suppose ye thought ye’d 
deluder me wid a foine thraine an’ a fancy gown, thinkin’ to 
cum Mother Delany over me ; but I’d have ye to know I 
cum o’ dacint people. Me frock is no tarin’ foine gown wid 
a thraine, to be shure ; but it’s a dacint frock, and covers a 
dacint woman, and divil a shtitch more will I let ye put on 
me back ; so ye may take yer beautiful thraine to the soart 
that’ll wear it. An’ I advise ye, if ye have a liken’ fur a 
whole pelt on yer phiz, to keep yer hands off dacint women, 
mabouchal.” 


26 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

Tingling with pain, the conductor put his hand to his 
cheek. The roar of laughter from the baggage men, smiting 
his ear, was adding insult td injury ; but their merriment at* 
his expense was of short duration. 

The huge iron-bound chest had just been deposited in 
the baggage car and the metal check thrown to the newly 
arrived emigrant, when, perceiving her bit o’ property in the 
baggage car, Biddy Finnigan jumped in after it, and seated 
herself on it, resolutely refusing to leave it. 

“ Aisy me foine lads. How well yiz thought to be off 
wid me bit o’ property while me back was turned, but I am 
up to yer thricks upon thravelers.” 

It was now the conductor’s turn to laugh at his compan- 
ions. 

“ Get off that baggage, madam ! ” shouted the exasper- 
ated baggage master. 

“ Ye had betthur save yer breath to cool j^er porridge, 
alanna ! Be the same token from the signs that’s to the fore 
ye have not mooch to spare, I’m thinkin’.” 

Directing attention to the baggage check he had given 
her, the baggage man said : 

‘‘ Madam, you hold the check I gave yon for 3’our trunk ! ” 

“Ha, thin now, what a gumalouchye take me for. Did 
ye think I’d be afthur sellin’ ye me illigant box, wid three cuts 
uv linen me aunt Peggj^’s spinnin’, not countin’ the tay and 
sliugar, an three pound o’ eight-penny dips, an’ me Sunday 
frock, let alone the sods o’ turf that I’m bringing to me 
cousin Pat Duffy, all for an owld brass milk ticket not worth 
a thraneen. In throth I’ll not. Here it is to \^e back agin,” 
slinging the check as she spoke. Biddy Finnigan sprawled 
herself so as to gain a firm hold of her box. 

Finding expostulation useless, the baggage man went 
for the master of transportation. 


Aisy, me foine lads. How well yiz thought to be otf wid me property while me back 
was turned, but 1 am up to yer thricks upon thravelers. 


Y 


I 



















OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


27 


“Here is the master of transportation. He will make 
you quit, madam ! ” 

“ Faix, it’s not surprisin’ to me he got thransported, whin 
he consourts wid the loikes o’ you,” regarding the railway 
official with the deepest distrust. Biddy poured forth her 
ire, as she rolled up her sleeves and prepared to defend her 
property. 

Cum on the two o’ yiz, yer comrade has the signs o’ 
thransportation hangin’ about him yit. His arms is that thin 
ye cud reddy a pipe stim wid wan uv ’em. I suppose it was 
the climate uv Australia that whizzed the hair of his head ; 
an’ his poor little dawnshee body is so thin ye could hide 
him behind a fac handle, an’ divil a shadow he’d cast on the 
flure.” 

The railway magnate beat a hasty retreat, not liking to 
become the butt of his employees’ jests. He brought a 
couple of policemen, who finally succeeded In getting the 
woman into the passenger car. 

At every station the train stopped at Biddy Finnigan 
rushed to the conductor, shouting at the top of her voice, 

“ Where’s me box? What did yiz do wid me property? 
Take care yiz don’t lose me wee bit uv a box ! ” 

When the train pulled in at the Philadelphia depot, it 
was with a sigh of relief the conductor beheld Biddy Finni- 
gan’ s box placed on a dray. 


28 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION} 


CHAPTER III. 

Mrs, Weathersby has Company to Dinner , — A New Way to 
Make Pumpkin Pies, — Flavoring Ice Cream. — Jerusha, 
Ann's Experiment results in a Divided Jury , — 
Emulating the Childhood of Illustrious 
Men, — The Aristocratic Little Fitz~ 
doodledoms Riding the 
Great American 
Elephant, 

Jerusha Ann was kept at home for a while to recuper- 
ate. A diet of toast and tea was prescribed for her. Dr. 
Proudfoot ordered an antip^hlogistic course of treatment. 
Pastry was positively forbidden. With anxious eyes 
Jerusha Ann beheld her mother rolling the flaky pie crust. 
Seated* on a cracker box, in front of the kitchen stove, she 
beat the whites of the eggs to a foam, and her mouth 
watered as the sugar, nutmeg, eggs, cream and pumpkin, 
whisked together in a great earthen bowl to the proper 
degree of consistency, were finally deposited in the flaky 
crust and baked. 

“Yum, yum ; pumpkin pie is good for little girls, Maw. 
Makes ’em grow. Can’t I have some ?” 

“ Jerusha Ann ! What did mother say?” 

“Hankerin’ after the flesh-pots of Egypt. I know 
that’s what the preacher said ; but Paw says pumpkin pies 
is a Yankey institution. I reckon they never were in Egypt, 
’thout they went on a foreign mission.” 


OB, THAT EOMP OF A GIRL. 


29 


“ Jerusha Ann ! How you do talk. Aint you ashamed 
of yourself?’’ 

“Ne’er a time, Maw. I believe in patronizing home 
industries. You know Paw says that’s what we have a pro- 
tective tariff for. Yum, yum ; I could demonstrate the 
power of home consumption now, on that off pie. Say, Do 
you want to see me do it ” 

“No. You start in and set the table for dinner. 
Deacon Smithers and Sister Smithers are coming to dinner. 
You set two extra places, and git down the china ice cream 
plates, from the top shelf.’* 

Jerusha Ann departed for the dining-room and began to 
set the table. 

Mrs. Keziah Weathersby placed her pumpkin pies, the 
joy of her heart, on the sideboard in the dining-room, 
remarking to Jerusha Ann that she must be sure to have 
things jest so before Deacon Smithers arrived. More’n likely 
he was settin’ up to Miss Sally Fairfax, Mrs. Fitzdoodle- 
dum’s sister, and she just wanted Deacon Smithers to see 
there were ladies in the church could get up just as good a 
dinner as the Fitzdoodledums, though they didn’t wear seal- 
skin sacques, sailin’ into the front pew ; nor live in three- 
story stone fronts, with mansard roofs. 

When the . door banged to, after her mother, Jerusha 
Ann climbed on a chair, and, by the aid of a teaspoon, suc- 
ceeded in scooping out the pumpkin custard, which she 
relished exceedingly. A pot of mixed mustard she confis- 
cated, and forthwith filled the pie crusts with the yellow 
compound. 

The ice cream was made to pay toll. Scooping up 
saucerful after saucerful of the ice cream, Jerusha Ann filled 
up the vacuum with grated horse-radish, and awaited results. 

The Weathersby’s guests arrived, and Deacon Smithers 


30 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

asked a blessing in due form. Miss Smithers, his maiden 
sister, cast longing glances at the sideboard, and compli- 
mented Mrs. Weathersby on her luck, in always making the 
best pumpkin pies in the country. 

“ Aint a gal this side of Connecticut can come up to 
Keziahon bakin’ pumpkin pies,” remarked Sam Weathersby, 
as he divided the spheres into quarter-sections and helped 
them to his guests. 

Sister Smithers tasted hers, and a spasmodic contrac- 
tion of the lower jaw, followed by a singular contortion of 
countenance, was explained as another attack of that 
“pesky neuralgy.” 

“ Jerusha Ann ! You go up-stairs and fetch the bottle 
of pain-killer and a piece of flannel. I reckon I’ll fix you 
all right. Sister Smithers.” Mrs. Weathersby bound up the 
jaws of her guest ; but, behold. Deacon Smithers’ jaws 
showed symptoms of the family ailment. Seizing a plate of 
ice cream, the deacon emptied it in a gulp, endeavoring 
to cool his burning throat ; but the deacon jumped from 
his seat and made for the spittoon, exclaiming “ Jewillicans, 
I’m poisoned!” and, rushing from the house, sought the 
nearest physician. 

That gallon of ice cream broke up Guiseppi Topiani’s 
ice cream business. The jury didn’t agree as to whether it 
was prussic a(;id, arsenic or strychnine poison the Italian 
had put in the ice cream, for the express purpose of 
poisoning Deacon Smithers, who had appealed to the city 
authorities to have ice cream saloons closed on Sundays. 

A few days after Deacon Smither’s pastoral visit, 
Sam Weathersby was relating to his wife the incidents 
characterizing the early lives of our nation’s heroes. 
Ulysses S. Grant, when a little boy, mounted an elephant 
and rode him round the ring. See to what an elevation this 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


31 


led ! The boy Grant rides an elephant in a circus, — the 
man Grant becomes President of the United States ! 

Jerusha Ann resolved to emulate greatness. She 
wanted to become President of the United States too. The 
trouble was where to find the elephant. Jerusha Ann was 
equal to the occasion. She grabbed hold of a domestic ele- 
phant, and got astraddle of him. The aristocratic little 
Fitzdoodledums join in the race, — mounting hogs, they ride 
through the mud gutters of the city, shouting: “Hurrah, 
for the great American porker, Bismarck’s elephant 


32 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION} 


CHAPTER IV. 

First Experience in a Rocking Chair. — ^^Bad Cess to the 
Cabinet Maker that med this Chair wid the Heave-ho 

0* the Ship to iV^ — ^^Dhrownded on Shore be a 
Wathur Snake.^^ — ^^DiviPs Cure to ye^ fur an 
Iron Chist that Laves me a Dissolute Womam 
widout a Shawl to me Back or a Bonnet 
to me Fole^ in a Furrin LandF 

“ Musha the half o’ ten to ye Biddy agrah. We got 
Father Foley’s letthur, an shure we wor expectin’ ye a 
fortnight ago.” Such was the hospitable greeting Pat. 
Duffy extended to his cousin, as he gave her hand such a 
pump-handle shake that threatened a dislocation of her 
arm. 

Mrs. Duffy a buxom young woman, welcomed the 
newly arrived emigrant in a cordial manner, as she sub- 
jected the right arm of her kinswoman to a repetition of 
the pumphandle squeezing. 

“An’ how is every rope’s linth o’ ye, Biddy, avic. 
Throth I needn’t be axin, fur ye have the shine o’ the 
roses’ bloom in yer face. It’s aisy seein’ the foine Irish 
roses in yer cheeks is fresh from the owld sod. The hot 
sun o’ this country ’ill blache ’em afore yer long out, I’m 
afeered.” 

“ God forbid that same, Peggy. Shure a woman wid- 
out color in her face isn’t nathural. I seen a power a 
young wimin on the road cornin’ and it’s walking ghosts 


33 


OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIBL. 

they wor. God help ’em, the poor craytures ; me’be it’s 
out uv hospital they cum. I was afeered a ketchin the 
faver from ’em, an’ I kep a sate to meself,” replied Biddy 
Finnigan.” 

“ What way did ye cum?” asked Mrs. Duffy. 

“ It wus by rail they to wit me ; but divil a rail I seen. 
They clapped me into a thing for all the wurld like the in- 
side uv a Swaddler’s church; every man to himself; wid a 
sate an a windy, an’ lashins uv elbow room.” 

The ponderous chest had proved too heavy for the 
drayman to lift, and he called out for assistance, to en- 
able him to deliver it. 

‘‘Lave of yer things here, Biddy, an’ go in the front 
room an’ take a sate, while Patsy an’ 1 give a lift wid yer 
chest. It’s as heavy as lead and a ship’s load, so it is. 

Mrs. Duffy followed her husband down stairs to lend 
a hand in getting the “wee bit uv a box” up in safety. 

Biddy Finnigan left to herself, made an inspection of 
the premises. She beheld newly ironed clothes hanging 
on the clothesbars, and wondered to herself where the 
fire was, as no fire was visible. Obeying her kinswoman’s 
instructions, she divested herself of her plaid shawl and 
straw bonnet, placing them on an iron box as she supposed. 

“ Musha, but ye’re the quare shaped chist, wid a gap 
in the top ; like Phil. Flanagan’s haggart at the ind o’ 
the boreen, an’ four round rings on top, an’ pecthures o’ 
green garbage runin’ fitche fotchye all over. In all me 
days, I never seen such a quare iron chist.” 

Soliloquizing to herself, Biddy entered the front room, 
and Mrs. Duffy returning, gave her guest a seat in the 
rocking chair — the seat of honor and pride of her heart. 

“ An how is me mother, Biddy. Is the cough any 
betthur wid her?” asked Mrs. Duffy. 


34 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

“ Yis ; a little ais3’er.” 

Biddy clutched the arms of the rocking chair as 
a drowning man clutches at a straw ; the sinews of her 
neck were distended, and she did not dare to move her 
head, while her feet were distended, and her whole de- 
meanor bespoke inward sufferings. 

Replying to the questions of her entertainers in mono- 
syllables, Biddy supposing that a damaged chair had by 
mistake been allotted to her, endeavored not to betray 
the uneasiness she felt. 

“What ails jer neck, Biddy? Didye catch cold on 
the ship cornin’ over?” asked Mrs. Duffy. 

“ Oh no ! It’s a powerful wakeness that come over me, 
and I’m afeerd the chair I’m sittin on is a trifle rickety 
in the legs, Peggy !” Scarcely daring to look down before, 
Biddy ventured to take a peep at the legs of the chair, 
as she spoke, the forward motion of her body caused 
the chair to sway forward on its rockers. 

“ Urrah, come quick an help me, before I’m spilt all 
over the flure ; the chair is slipping from under me. For 
God’s sake cum before I’m kilt dead, Peggy !” Scream- 
ing out in terror, Biddy sprawled and clutched to save 
herself from falling, but, in the agony of fear, she overbal- 
anced herself and was precipitated on the floor, ere her 
hostess got to her assistance ; the rocking chair tumbling 
on top of her. 

Pat Duffy and his wife lifted her up and finding she 
had sustained no bodily injury, gave her another seat near 
the kitchen door. 

“That chair was made to rock, Biddy. It’s the best 
bit of furniture we have in the house,” explained her kins- 
woman. 

“Bad cess to the cabinet maker that med it thin. 


35 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 

I low well he thought to keep up the heave-ho rowlin’ o’ the 
ship on the land.” 

“ Wh}', the ladies of Amerikay love to spind their time 
sittin’ in the rocking chair, Biddy, an’ I thought you would 
loike it also,” remarked the host. 

“ Some an apple, an some an iniyun, every man to his 
opinion, is an ould saying, and shure it’s no more wondhur 
fur the people that never was on the ocean, to fancy the row- 
lin o’ the ship on top o’ the waves, than the quare fancy o’ 
the man that kissed his cow fur choice ; but I’m thinkin the 
cabinet maker that med that chair was aythur born in a bog, 
or was a sayfarin’ man in his youth, an so a rowlin gate 
cum nathural to him.” 

Conversation was again resumed. The Duffys made 
inquiries regarding their old friends of days lang syne, 
and Biddy informed them regarding the domestic arrange- 
ments, business prospects and marital engagements of their 
old neighbors and relations. Mr. Duffy enquired : 

And how is Ned o’ the Hills?” 

“ Faix it’s a long story. But did you hear tell o’ how he 
sarved the Belfast Bailiff ?” answered their guest. 

‘‘ No, tell us about it.” 

‘‘ Well, ye see, poor Ned got into trouble, an’ the peeler 
got wind uv it, an’ a coupleo’ bailiffs from Belfast came 
down to sarve him wid a Latitat.” 

‘‘ A Latitat ?” interrogated the listeners. 

“ Yis, it’s thrue, fur me. Furst they tuk an alfy da- 
vid uv him. Wasn’t that a mane thing, to go and take an 
alfy david on a poor man, wid a wife an six little children 
depinden on him.” 

“ In throth it was,” came the reply. 

‘‘Not contint wid taken an alfy david on him (an 
shure if they had the spent uv a flay off a dacint blanket, 


36 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

they’d have takeo a couple o’ shillalahs an leathered the 
day lights out o’ him, an’ not go takin an alfy david on 
him) , they up o’ an’ goes'before a magistrate, an’ takes out a 
Latitat agin him.” 

“Oh, dear me, what a misforthin !” came the refrain 
from Biddy’s listeners, who with the glowing sense of injus- 
tice always meted out to the peasantry of Ireland, felt that 
any law document associated as it was with English mis- 
rule and British domination, was an evil, more dreadful 
in its consequences, than broken bones, or bodily injury, 
resulting from a hand-to-hand encounter. 

“ Yis, but the bys gothur an’ lay in wait fur the owld 
bailiff by Lannahan’s Mill, an’ whin he kem they saized him an’ 
med him kneel down on his marrow bones, an’ they bruk the 
Latitat (an’ musha faith, I dunno how they had the strinth to 
do it), an’ they med him swally it in little pieces.” 

“ Ding ! Ding ! Ding ! The jingle of fire bells broke in 
upon the laughter of Biddy Finnigan’s auditors. Pat. Duffy 
threw up the window and looked out to see the fire engines 
pass. But behold ! they were stationed opposite his own 
house. 

The apartments occupied by Pat. DuflTy and his wife 
were in the second story of a two-story brick dwelling. The 
front room was used as a sitting room, and the one back of it, 
served the double purpose of kitchen and dining room. On 
the kitchen cooking stove, Biddy Finnigan had deposited her 
shawl and bonnet, supposing it to be an iron chest. The ar- 
ticles catching fire, communicated it to the ironed clothes, 
hanging on the clothesbars, and thence it spread rapidly, 
enveloping the rear window in fiames. 

A policeman on his beat, in the rear, perceived the fire 
and turned on an alarm. 

A fireman rushing up the stairs with the hose in his 




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OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


37 


hand, turned a stream on to the kitchen door. It happened 
that Biddy Finnigan, being seated near this door, received 
a ducking. Jumping from her chair in affright, she caught the 
fireman by the shoulders pleading with him to spare her. 

“Ow ! Ow ! I’m kilt entirely. Lanyewallah to think I 
shud crass the salt say to be dhrowned be a wathur snake. 
See how he sputthers an’ spits the wather out uv his nose.” 

“ Turn the craythur’s head thother way, sur, an God 
will re ward ye ! Oh, Holy Moses, what a snout he has got ; 
an’ the two eyes of him stannin’ to the fore like shinnin’ bits 
o’ brass. Was it fur this I crossed the salt say, to be 
dhrownded on shore be a wathur snake? Ach, why did I 
lave ye owld Ireland? Why did I cum to the country where 
snakes of all soarts does be twistin’ an’ twinin’ an’ sputtherin’ 
vinom on the people.” 

The fire was soon extinguished, and the origin of the 
fire discovered. 

“ What made you put your bonnet and shawl on the 
stove, Biddy? asked Mrs. Duffy, when it was all over. 

Wringing her hands in despair, Biddy Finnigan gave 
expression to her sentiments, as she contemplated the burnt 
embers of her shawl and bonnet. 

“Musha, Divil’s cure to ye, fur an iron chist that laves 
me a dissolute woman, widout a shawl to me back or a bon- 
net to me pole, in a furrin land. ” 


38 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER V. 

The Weathersby’s Conclude to Keep a Hired Girl, The Bride 
Applies a Musta/rd Plaster on the Wrong Man. 

Sam. Weathersbt prospered in his commercial pursuits 
to such an extent, that his better-half, urged the necessity 
of putting on style. At first pater familias objected to 
, changing his mode of life, but the wife of his bosom wept 
and frowned, and fretted, and as a closing argument, insis- 
ted that the chores Jerusha Ann was compelled to perform 
were spoiling her hands. Unless he consented to keep a 
hired girl, all the money spent on Jerusha Ann’s music 
lessons, would be thrown away. 

This domestic controTersy ended, as such discussions 
usually terminate‘. 

Jerusha Ann kissed her papa, and the fond father drew 
out a checque to pa}^ for all the extra articles of luxury, 
deemed indispensable in the home of one of Mudville’s solid 
men. 

Early in the following week, Mrs. Weathersby, accom- 
panied by Jerusha Ann, took the train for Philadelphia. 

Domiciled in the Continental hotel, Jerusha Ann spent 
the first day of her arrival in forming the acquaintance of 
the chamber-maids, bell boys, porters, clerks, stewards and 
elevator boy. Ere the second day had passed, she had a 
thorough knowledge of the location of the pantry, store room, 
pastry room and ice cream department, and had established 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


39 


friendly relations with the custodians of these several repos- 
itories of good things. 

Mrs. Weathersby was invited to a church sociable, and 
as her precious darling's wardrobe afforded no garment of 
sufficient elegance to appear in, she left her at the hotel, tel- 
ling the chamber-maid to look after her during the few hours 
that she would be detained at the sociable. 

Munching gum drops, Jerusha Ann tired of the. monot- 
ony of remaining in one place, got her pencil and*^ began to 
draw pictures. The objects inside the room could not 
satisfy the lofty ambition of the juvenile artist. Opening 
the door she amused herself making likenesses of the pas- 
sers by. 

Room 56 was emanated by a newly married couple. 
Groans emanated from the apartment and a bell boy was 
summoned. 

The bride opened the door and requested the boy to 
make her a mustard plaster for her husband, who had just 
been taken suddenly ill with colic. 

The boy hunted up the chamber-maid and sent her to 
receive the order. The sick man continued to groan and 
his bride came into the hall several times, to watch for the 
return of the chamber-maid. 

“Oh, if I only knew where to get the mustard, Td 
make it myself in half the time," she exclaimed in her 
anxiety. 

“I’ll show you where the mustard is kept, if you like. 
Misses.” Dropping her paper, Jerusha Ann hurried through 
the corridors accompanied by the distressed lady. The 
friendly relations she had established with the steward were 
put to good account and the lady was instantly furnished 
with the mustard ; but in her haste she had forgotten to provide 
herself with a piece of cloth. 


40 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

Taking off her white apron, her young guide generous- 
ly donated it to hold the mustard ; and fearing her mother’s 
return, ran back to her room. Just as she resumed her place, 
she beheld a tall, powerfully-built man, very much under the 
influence of liquor, arrive at room 58, and between hiccoughs 
and lunges right and left, he finally succeeded in opening 
the door which he closed only partially behind him. 

Disrobing, the bibulous individual was soon in his bed 
and asleep. 

It just then occurred to Jerusha Ann to try an experiment. 
The lady occupant of room 58 had left a chair, with its back 
drawn up to the open door-way, so that she might enter her 
room on her return without delay. 

Drawing a chair up to the open door- way of room 58, 
Mrs. Weathersby’s incorrigible daughter awaited results. 

Racing through the hallway, holding the mustard plaster 
on the palms of her hands, the bride rushed through the open 
door of room 58, recognizing the chair balanced against it, as 
positive evidence that it was her own room. Throwing back 
the covering with one hand, she placed the mustard plaster 
on the stomach of the unconscious sleeper, and holding it 
down, begged in pleading tones : 

“There, keep it down, darling Hubby !” “It was your 
own precious pet made it for her Hubby!” “Still!” “No, 
don’t kick precious one, it will make you well soon. Bear it 
for your own sweet wife’s sake, I know you will.” 

“Tarnation sakes ! what’s that? Who is a burnin me? 
Hick — up — I eh — ain’t no Bunko steerer. Who’s a bran- 
din me in my southern territory? Take it off !” Ere the recip- 
ient of such graceful attention could realize the situation, the 
door of his apartment banged to, a female form fluttered for 
an instant and was soon lost to sight. 

Mrs. Weathersby returned from the party bringing bon- 


“Throwing back the covering, she placed the mustard plaster on the stomach of the 
unconscious sleeper.” 













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OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


41 


bons tied up in her handkerchief. “Why, what has become of 
of your apron?’’ demanded the young hopeful’s mother. 

Cracking peanuts on the marble-topped dressing case, 
'with the key of the door, Jerusha Ann replied : 

donated it to the cause of evangelizing the heathen, 

maw !” 

“What made you give your fine linen dimity with the 
cambric ruffles. Your old moth eaten one, with the iron 
rust is good enough to give away.” 

“It’s all right, maw. Caused a great awakening. I’ve 
got the returns in already.” Crunching peanuts until it was 
time to go to bed, no further particulars could be elicited 
concerning the lost apron from Jerusha Ann. 

The next morning the earliest train bore a lady and 
gentleman far from Philadelphia. The population of the city 
of Brotherly Love was minus a bride and a groom, all through 
that romp of a girl’s experiment. 


42 


BIDDY BINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER VI. 

Biddy Finnigan Answers Mrs, Weather shyl* s Advertisement, 
had two KaracJcthurs, mam, but I lost wan uv em on 
the Ship comin" over.^^ Jerusha Ann Shows the 
Country -man his Room. ^^Darn these New 
Fangled Beds^ Spread Around Three 
Sides of the Room for Style. A 
Fellar has to Split Hisself in 
Two to Lie Down in 
Comfort on ’em.” 

Mrs. Weathersby inserted an advertisement in the Puh-^ 
Uc Ledger for a servant to do general house- work, application 
to be made in person, at room 57, Continental hotel. 

Biddy Finnigan after applying at the court-house, on 
Broad street, the Academy of Music, the Alhambra and the 
Chestnut street theatre, finally succeeded in finding the place. 
Mounting the stairs she gave expression to her views con- 
cerning the tendency of American architects to erect many 
storied edifices. 

“Wirrasthrue, the ind o’ these, steps must be cut off, 
'I’m thinkin.” “Faix the builder uv these stairs must have 
tuk the patthurn from Jacob’s laddhur. I’sn’t it quare in a 
counthry where there is lashin’s uv land, that they’d be 
buildin’ houses up in the sky.” 

Arrived at the landing, she accosted one of the guests : 

“Would ye be afthur tellin’ me, sur, where is the lady 
that wants a sarvint?” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 


43 


“Ask the chamber-maid, Madam, I cannot inform you,” 
replied the gentleman hurrying on. 

Seizing hold of the chamber-maid, the same question was 
repeated. 

“Would you be afthur tellin’ me, where is the lady that 
wants a sarvint?” 

“What is her name and number?’’ asked the maid. 

“Musha be whipped to me for a poor mimory, I forgot 
the name. It’s sumthin’ about the saysons, so it is, an’ to 
make a long story short, she is wan married woman, an’ she 
wants a sarvint maid, an’ that’s what brought me here. 
Would you show me where she lives, allana, an’ God love ye, 
fur me heart’s broke lookin’ fur the place, an’ I’m shoved 
about like snuff at a wake, an’ no nearer me journey’s 
ind.” 

Jerusha Ann sliding down the banister guessed the 
newly arrived emigrant might be in quest of her maternal 
relative. 

“Say are you lookin’ for Mrs. Weathersby’s room? 

“That’s the wan, me purty little girl. Mrs. Weathersby, 
so it is. Will ye show me where she lives?” 

Jerusha Ann led the way to her mother’s room. “Here 
is a girl come to hire out, maw!” ushering Biddy Finnigan 
in, as she spoke. The mischief loving child volunteered a 
favorable comment upon the applicant, “I reckon she’ll do.” 

Mrs. Weathersby scanned the woman from head to toe, 
taking a mental inventory of her good points. “What is 
your name?” she asked : 

“Biddy Finnigan, mam.” 

“You look strong and able, have you good health? 

“Oh yis, mam ; I have good discharges. I had two 
karackthurs, but I lost wan uv ’em on the ship cornin’ 

99 


over. 


44 


BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 


Mrs. Weathersby laughed as she continued. ‘^Two 
characters! How’s that? I am particular and must have 
references.” 

‘‘Shure that’s what I’m tellin’ ye, mam. I had two 
karackthurs, wan fur doin’ up fine things, an’ thother for 
vegetables an’ mate. But I suppose 1 lost wan uv ’em on the 
ship cornin’ over, fur I haven’t seen hilt or hare uv it since 
I landed,” unfolding a very white, smoothly ironed hand- 
kerchief, Biddy presented a document which she said was 
wan uv her discharges. 

Mrs. Weathersby perused it and learned that the bearer, 
Biddy Finnigan, was honorably discharged from the service 
of Sir Richard O’Gorman, M. P., of Mount Joy Square, 
Dublin, and that she had proved an honest, faithful servant, 
giving especial satisfaction as a meat and vegetable cook. 

Contemplating the robust frame of the applicant, and 
reflecting upon the fact that she had served a titled nobleman, 
visions of the elegant dishes cooked in European style and 
courses served in proper order, with which she would astonish 
the ladies of the sewing society, floated before the imagina- 
tion of Mrs. Weathersby, who aspired to mount the social 
ladder many steps higher. 

“What wages do you ask?” 

“A hundhred dollars, mam.” 

“A hundred dollars I why that is preposterous !” 

“I got the half uv it at Sir Richard O’Gorman’s, an’ 
where’s the use o’ me cornin’ to Amerikay, if I wasn’t to 
double it?” 

“Do you mean to tell me you got fifty dollars a month 
in Ireland?” asked Mrs. Weathersby in astonishment. 

“No, mam ; tin pound a year I mane. It’s be the year, 
I always hired. We wor ped every quarthur.” 

“Oh, that alters the case. One hundred dollars a year 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


45 


a little more than eight dollars a month ; I don’t object to 
pay that. Where do you live?” 

“At me cousin’s, mam.” 

“But who is your cousin?” 

“Wan Patrick Duffy, mam.” 

“ Well, where does he live? ” 

“ In his own house ; nate an’ comfortable as pays in a 
ppd.” 

“ What street does he live on ? Tell me the street and 
number.” 

“1 forgot the name o’ the sthreet an’ the number, but it’s 
aisy findin’ the place. You jump on the sthreet car, it was 
the yallah wan I tuk ; an’ more betoken, there was a couple 
o’ big jack asses wid crapped ears haulin’ it, an’ ye tell the 
dhriver to stop at the corner grocery man, an’ thin ye get off, 
an’ ye walk on a piece till ye cum to a vacent lot wid a house 
sthanin’ in the middle uv it, an’ it’s a peeler that owns it ; 
an’ thin ye go on till ye cum to another impty lot, wid a 
sthable in wan corner uv it, an’ ye turn to yer right till ye 
cum to Dutch John’s, an’ thin ye go on till ye cum to a 
dairy, an’ afthur ye pass the cheese monger’s shop, ye turns 
to 3 "er lift, an’ there’s a quarry where they does be sellin’ 
tombstones ; an’ thin ye tare across skeow ways an’ there’s 
me cousin’s, Pat Duffy’s stanin’ forninst ye. The house is 
med of breeks, painted red, an’ there ’s a furriner, wan 
Mrs. Brown, livin’ in the down stairs. She’s an English 
woman, an’ can’t spake plain, but she’ll show ye the way 
upstairs to me cousin’s an’ me’ be it’s Peggy herself, she 
will open the dure to ye.” 

By the time Biddy finished her description, Jerusha 
Ann and her mother were convulsed with laughter. 

Writing the address of the railroad depot, Mrs Weath- 
ersby told Biddy Finnigan to have her trunk sent there on 


46 BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHERATION ; 

Wednesday morning, and to come to the hotel by six o’clock 
in the evening, to take the bus with her, as she proposed 
leaving for Mudville, by the nine o’clock train. 

On Wednesday evening Mrs. Weathersby went out to 
make a few purchases, and stationed her daughter in the 
hallway, to be sure to receive the bundles that would 
be delivered for her, as she had lost a package on the pre- 
vious day through an error in the delivery. 

Jerusha Ann, amused herself playing mumbledy-peg 
with the elevator boy between times. A gentleman from 
the rural districts, gripping a bulky satchel in his hand, 
was accompanied by the night clerk from the office, and the 
elevator boy told to show the gentleman to his room. 

Just then the Grand Army of the Republic escorted 
by a perfect battalion of citizen soldiery, marched up Chest- 
nut street. The bands played “ And We’ll Rally Around 
the Flag Boys, We’ll Rally Once Again,” the clerk, eleva- 
tor boy and a number of young ladies, guests of the house, 
rushed to the door, to see the military procession. 

Looking back, Jerusha Ann beheld the country-man, 
still standing in the hall with his valise in his hand. 
Approaching him, she said: “Say, mister, here is your 
room. You look kind of tired, I reckon ye feel like going 
to bed ; just pull down this door when ye get in, that’s the 
way you shut it.” 

“ Thank ye^ sis. I am just tired to death.” The man 
stepped into the elevator as he spoke, and pulled down the 
door as directed. Divesting himself of his attire, he 
stretched himself on the plush covered seat, put his valise 
under his head, and threw his coat and pants over him for a 
covering. 

“Darn these new fangled beds, spread around three 
sides of the room for style. A fellar has to split hisself in 




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“ Starting upright and cocking his revolver to shoot the in- 
truder, he beheld a bevy of young ladies entering his apart- 
ment.” 


[ 47 ] 


47 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 

two to lie down in comfort on ’em. Call this a first-class 
hotel, where a fellar has to brace himself on edge to take a 
stretch. I’ll be dogoned if this ain’t too utterly too- too. 
Polished wooden walls, red velvet mattresses, a dozen navy 
revolvers for a pillow, your old pants for a kiver. This is 
the esthetic, sure enough. Old Sam Jones keeps a better 
hotel than this, way out in Pikesville ; an’ he don’t pretend 
to blow about it, like these Eastern chaps ! ” Muttering to 
himself, the gentleman, from Pikesville, made the best of the 
situation. Tired nature’s sweet restorer came to his relief, 
and he was soon fast asleep and snoring. He was awakened 
by some one throwing up the door of his room. Starting 
upright and cocking his revolver to shoot the intruder, he 
beheld a bevy of young ladies stepping into his apartment. 

“Hold on Gals! You’ve made a mistake, 1 reckon. 
This here room is taken. Just step outside a minute, till I 
haul on my clothes, an’ I’ll call the boss to give you gals a 
room ! ” 

The good intentions of the gentleman from Pikesville 
were not appreciated by his visitors. 

Female shrieks rent the air, causing a rush of gentle- 
men to the spot, who beheld the complicated state of affairs . 
The door was pulled down and the rural gentleman requested 
to dress himself, that a more comfortable bedroom might be 
given him. 

Jerusha Ann took her bundles upstairs, while the results 
of her pranks set the house in commotion. Half an hour 
later, as she took her seat in the omnibus between her 
mother and Biddy Finnigan, the elevator boy jammed a bag 
of candy into her pocket as he bid her good bye. His part- 
ing words were: “ Sorry you are going, sis. Guess we’ll 
have no more circus till you come back.” 


48 


BIDDY FINNEGAN'S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER. VII. 

The New Domestic, — Boiling Eggs, — Obeying the Missthrusrs 

Ordhurs, — '‘'’He is HoppM Hot^ Mam^ — A 
Delegation of Citizens endeavor to place Mrs, 
Weathersby in the Insane Asylum , — 

“J have Seen that Look in the 
Poor Dear’s Eyes 
Before,” 

Determined to enforce a proper respect for her dignity, 
Mrs. Weathersby gave instructions to her new servant. 

“ Remember, Bridget, I want you to do just what I tell 
you without any questioning. I see you have a habit of 
talking about things. What I command you to do, go and 
do it, without inquiring any further.’’ 

‘‘I’ll thry me best, mam, fur to plaize ye, an’ folly yer 
ordhurs,” replied the maiden from the Emerald Isle, as 
she listened to the directions of how to make rolls for break- 
fast. 

“Here, when your rolls are nearly done, Bridget, you 
take this glass and boil the eggs with it.” Mrs. Weathersby 
gave a three minute sand glass to her new domestic, with 
nine eggs. 

“ Yis, mam ; I’ll do that same,” answered Biddy. 

Mrs. Weathersby left the kitchen, and hastened to her 
daughter’s apartment, to make her don befitting attire for 
school. 

When the rolls were nearly done, Biddy put the eggs 
and the sand glass down to boil. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. • 


49 


Breakfast was announced, and when the eggs were 
called for, the new domestic, by nods and winks at her 
mistress, tried to convey some secret information concerning 
them. 

“What happened to the eggs?” demanded her mis- 
tress. 

“Nauthin, mam; but the thing ye know is all laked 
into the bottom mam, an’ it’s as hard as flint. Divil a cook 
it’ll cook, an’ do me best wid it.” 

“ What do you mean ? Dish them all in the dish I left 
on the kitchen table and bring them in.” 

“The wan wid the hin settin’ fur a cover, is it, 
mam?” 

“ Yes, that’s it.” 

Biddy Finnigan brought the dish of boiled eggs in 
with the minute glass in the center. 

“Why, what have you done with the sand glass,” 
inquired her mistress. 

“I’ve done me best, mam. I biled it, an’ biled 
it, an’ it all laked into the bottom, an’ not another stur 
to it.” 

“ What possessed you to boil the glass? ” asked Mrs. 
Weathersby. While the lord of the manor, and Jerusha 
Ann, gave vent to their feelings. 

“ I was doin’ what ye bid me. Ye to wit me to boil the 
eggs with the thing ye know, an’ that’s what I did, mam.” 

“ All right, Biddy, you did just what you were ordered. 
I’ve been there myself, and I know what it is. These eggs 
are all right ; never eat a better breakfast in my life. Give 
me another cup of coffee, Keziah, to wash that down.” Chuck- 
ling to himself, Sam Weathersby partook of his breakfast 
with a hearty appetite. 

As he was in such a good humor, the partner of his 


50 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


bosom induced him to order home a new ottoman rug from 
the carpet store, that he had refused to buy for her. 

So the first mistake of the new help was passed without 
reprimand. 

Later in the day, Mrs. Weathersby was making dough- 
nuts in her store room. The twisted pieces of sweetened 
dough were piled, in a wooden bowl, ready to fry, and as she 
was finishing the last lot, she called to her assistant who was 
at work in the kitchen. 

“ Bridget ! ” 

“Yis, mam.’* 

“ Put the spider on the stove to get hot.” 

“ Yis, mam.” Bridget hunted in the cobwebs of the 
yard till she found a spider, which she placed on the stove, 
muttering to herself about the inhumanity of “thratin* a poor 
dumb crayture that way.” 

Her mistress called out : 

“ Is the spider hot yet, Bridget?” 

“ Yis, mam ; he is hoppin’ hot.” 

“ Well, pour a cupful of lard into it ! ” 

“ Yis, mam. Oh dear. Oh dear. Isn’t it bad enough 
to go roast the poor thing, widout smutherin’ it to death wid 
a hape o' lard on tap uv it. But here goes, I must folly 
ordhurs, I suppose.” She poured the cup of lard over the 
spider as she spoke. 

The flames ascended from the hot grease, and Mrs. 
Weathersby rushing out discovered a conflagration in pro- 
gress. 

Seizing some strips of rag-carpet that were near, she 
dipped them in the water-bucket, and, by persevering in 
keeping them wet, subdued the Are. 

“ Get out of my house this instant, you good-for-noth- 
ing — I ” 


“Isn’t it bad enough to go roast the poor thing, widout smutherin’ it to death wid 
hape o’ lard on top uv it?” 


7 




P 







OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 51 

Biddy stood not on the order of her going, but hastened 
out to the woodshed, where she remained in concealment 
until Jerusha Ann returned from school. 

Peering out from her place of concealment, she asked : 

‘‘ How is yer mother, now? 

She is just as mad as she can be, I tell you,” 
replied the child. 

Is she ? The poor craythur. Shure I might have known 
that, be the ordhurs she gave me. Stay here, Jerusha Ann, 
an’ don’t stur from where ye are ’till I bring yer fathur to 
ye. Poor child ! God pity ye ; it’s an awful thing to have 
your mother go mad,” remarked the kind-hearted soul as 
she ran as fast as she could to Mr. Weathersby’s store. 

“ Cum quick, sur ! The mistress is out of her head, sur. 
She tuk a fit while she was rowlin’ out paste, an’ nauthin’ id 
do her, but I must gethur a lot o’ insects from the yard, an’ 
roast ’em on the stove, an’ thin she med me power grase on 
tap uv ’em ; an’ shure the house was near bein’ burnt. She 
is ravin’ mad, sur. If ye wor to see the fire fiashin’ from 
her eyes, an’ the way she is goin’ on. Ye had bethur bring 
some men wid ye to help ye, sur, fur its not safe to go near 
her, an’ I suppose ye’ll have to put her in the mad-house.” 

Sam Weathersby accompanied by a policeman, and a 
delegation of citizens entered his domicile. 

The policeman attempted to tie Mrs. Weathersby’s 
hands. Her eyes flashed fire and she knocked him over, as 
she shouted : 

‘‘ Get out of that, you ornery puppy. Don’t you dare 
to lay your hands on me, or I’ll show you. You can’t fool 
with me I ” 

“ Oh look at the gleam in her eye,” remarked Mr. 
Jones. “ They always have that.” 

“ Who are you talking of. You are just as homely as 


52 ' BIDDY FINNIGAN’s BOTHERATION; 

a mud fence, any how. But if you don’t quit sassing me, 
you will be worse looking yet.” 

Making pugilistic demonstrations, Mrs. Weather sby con- 
tinued to excite the apprehension of her fellow-citizens. 

“ With such a wild look in her eyes, she is not safe to 
be at large,” exclaimed the committee on public safety. 

“ I have seen just that look in the poor dear’s eyes 
before,” remarked Sam Weathersby. 

“ What in thunder, brought you all here, anyhow,” 
asked the supposed lunatic. Explanations followed, and 
the origin of the trouble was found out. 

That night as Jerusha Ann, seated on a kitchen chair, 
endeavored to teach Biddy Finnigan the American nomen- 
clature for kitchen utensils, she expostulated with her 
young instructor: 

“ Musha, wasn’t it quare for yer mother to tell me to 
put a sphidur on the stove, when she mint a fryin’ pan?” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


53 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Biddy Flnnigan Caters to the Invalid French Visitor's Tastes. 

“ Te et all her Pusheens, an’ Pm Afeerd the 
Owld Wan is a Trifle to Tough in, 
the Legs^ Surf” 

“ Did you get the sausages, Bridget?*^ 

‘‘ No, sur. The divil a wan he had left, but two ould 
gray Polonys wid a coat o’ hair growin’ on ’em, loike fur on 
a mole, an’ so I left ’em wid him fur a patthern.” 

‘‘Well, I reckon you got the cheese, anyhow? Dutch 
John always keeps a good supply.” Mr. Weathersby put 
the market basket on the kitchen table as he spoke. 

“ In throth I didn’t, sur, fur they wor openin’ a box wid 
the remains of a dead Dutchman, wan Limberbugger, that 
was sint by express to ’em ; an’ I had to howld me nose wid 
the sthink, savin’ yer prisence, sur. An’ shure me heart 
was sorry fur the poor people. It’ll take a power o’ snuff to 
go round at the wake. I’m thinkin’.” 

“Never mind; John will send the cheese in time, I 
reckon. Here is a dollar for you, Biddy, and I want you to 
have things all O. K. for breakfast.” 

Sam Weathersby slipped a silver dollar into the open 
palm of the Hibernian domestic. 

^ “I niver hear tell o’ that before, sur. How do ye cook 
it? Is it fried or roasted ye loike it, sur ? ” 

“ Get out, 3^ou know what I mean.” 

“Faix I don’t, sur.” 


54 


BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHEEATION ; 


“You ain’t quite so green as not to know wbat O. K. 
means? ” 

“ May be it’s a soart o’ coffee. They do be havin’ 
Moquay coffee in ould Ireland, the quality does ; an’ the 
smell of it on a cowld, frosty mornin’ would rise the cockles 
off yer heart, so it would.” 

Biddy Finnigan wiped the corners of her mouth with 
the hem of her check apron, as the reminiscence of by-gone 
days rose to her mind. 

“ Good coffee is one of the fixings needed. Here is 
something he’ll enjoy.” 

Sam Weathersby drew forth, from the bottom of the 
basket, a tin bucket containing a dozen fresh frogs. 

“ I want you to cook these in French style.” 

“Och, murtherl Shure you wouldn’t ate frogs, Mr. 
Weathersby? ” 

Biddy Finnegan let the pan of potatoes she was peeling 
fall in her consternation. 

“Well, I don’t hanker arter them, particular; but Mr. 
Paulette will enjoy them, I guess.” 

“ Shure he can’t be a Christian man, sur, an’ ate the 
loikes o’ thim.” 

Biddy Finnigan contemplated the frogs with a look of 
intense disgust, her full lips distended till her mouth resem- 
bled the Mammoth cave of Kentucky. 

“I don’t know if he is a church member; rather guess 
not, though,” Mr. Weathersby replied. 

‘‘Maybe he is a kayhole, sur!” 

“A what?” 

“A kayhole, sur. Thim is sum soart uv half-furriners~ 
naythur fish, flesh, nor a good salt herrin, they say.” 

“No ; I reckon you mean a creole. He ain’t one. Mr. 
Paulette is one of my best paying customers. He lives away 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


55 


off in Nevada ; and, Biddy, I want you to put on style while 
he is here, and show the Frenchman that Sam Weathersby’s 
folks live just as well as any on ’em !” 

“Oh, bedad! I will, sur.” 

“You must ask Mr. Paulette every day just what he 
fancies for his dinner and cook it to suit his taste. I’ll pay 
you for your extra trouble.” 

“Oh, never fear, sur. I sarved Frinch folks before. 
The Frinch loikes their mate cooked wid hapes o’ garlic an’ 
the roasts done to a tho’ than ; an* as for soups, the list o’ 
them is the linth uv a process sarver’s writ. They puts 
wine in the gravy wid ham, and makes salad wid sorrelgrass, 
an’ stuffs turkeys wid chestnuts. Himself used to bring 
Frinch dukes an’ lords home wid him from Paris to go fishin’ 
an’ huntin’ in Ireland, an^ it’s many’s the foine dish I cooked 
fur the furrin gintlemin in Mount Joy Square. But by the 
piper that played before Moses, I never seen the likes o* thim 
cooked fur a Christian man or woman, since the day I was 
born.” 

“I hear Mrs. Weathersby a cornin’. She will tell you 
how to cook ’em. Have things all O. K. while our visitor 
remains with us, Biddy.” Sam Weathersby slammed the 
kitchen door to, and was soon absorbed in the perusal of the 
morning paper, with his heels elevated to the position of 
mantelpiece ornaments, as he awaited the entrance of Mr. 
Paulette in the dining-room. 

Mrs. Weathersby told Biddy to broil the hind legs of the 
frogs, and gave her particular instructions to see that the 
macaroni was done brown. 

Biddy scratched her head as she received the orders of 
her mistress. “What do you call that thing ye put in the 
oven, mam?” 

“Macaroni! See that it’s done brown,” yelled Mrs. 


56 BIDDY FINNiaAN^S BOTHERATION; 

Weathersby, as she chased Jerusha Ann upstairs, out of the 
coal- shed, to make her put on her new prgandie dress before 
breakfast. 

Biddy Finnigan left to herself soliloquized upon the 
odd dishes. “Musha ! Bad luck to ye Maggy Roone}^ ye had 
the quare taste to give yer name to a pan o’ butthered mag- 
gots ; an’ you an Irishwoman, too. I’ll go bail. The 
Rooneys is uv a good owld Irish stock ! A veil agrah ! It’s 
little they thought wan o’ their .decindants id be given the 
name to a pan o’ butthered maggots.” “God help us, it’s 
little respect the childur o’ these days shows to the mimory o’ 
their forefathers.” Ruminating upon the degeneracy of 
filial affection in the nineteenth century, Biddy busied 
herself about her culinary, work until her mistress called to 
her to serve breakfast, as the French gentleman was waiting. 

Mr. Weathersby’ s invalid visitor, Mr. Paulette, was trav- 
eling for the benefit of his health. A long residence in the 
mountains, with the necessary reliance on canned vegetable 
diet, had produced a disorder of the stomach, and the wealthy 
speculator was forced to seek a change of temperature and 
food in hopes of regaining his lost health. Although he had 
resided many years in Nevada, Mr. Paulette spoke very little 
English and had the habit of expressing his satisfaction by the 
French equivalent of “It is good” (c’est bon.) 

“You must make yourself at home while you stay with 
us, Mons. Paulette, and order anything you fancy. Bridget 
here will cook it to your taste,” said the hospitable host to 
his guest. 

“Begorra, I’ll try my best. How did you loike the frogs, 
sur? Wor they right?” asked the domestic, as she brought 
the gentleman another cup of coflee. 

“C’est bon !” replied the Frenchman. 

“You may well say bones. Divil a much mate is on 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


57 


’em, sur. Here is a fresh plate Will ye thry a score o’ these 
Maggy Rooneys ; maybe ye’d loike thim?” 

Mons. Paulette partook of the macaroni and again 
expressed his satisfaction — C’est bon !” 

‘‘You say bone ! Arrah, it’s jokin’ ye are? Shure they’re 
nauthin’ but grizzle an’ pelt. Maggots has no bones at all, 
at all.” 

Jerusha Ann snickered right out, and was sent from the 
table in disgrace, as Mrs. Weathersb}^ served her guest with 
more water-cresses and dispatched Bridget after more hot 
pancakes. 

Mr. Weathersby remarked : “You have some privations 
to suffer up in the mountains, even if you never know what 
a case of sunstroke is.” 

“Afais om, nevaire ze nice vegetable from ze garden 
like zis Mistere Vethasby ; I like ze life en famille. Ze ladies 
at ze table make ze heart happy.” The Frenchman placed his 
hand over his heart and made a most polite bow to his 
hostess. 

The lady smiled her acknowledgment of the compliment, 
as she refilled the guest’s cup. 

“I should think it would be kind o’ lonesome without 
the women folks,” remarked Mr. Weathersby. 

“Afais om, two hundred man vit ze une lady.” Mr. 
Paulette replaced his cup and arose from the table, following 
his host into the parlor. 

After the breakfast dishes were cleared away, Biddy Fin- 
nigan interrogated the Frenchman concerning his dinner. 
“Misthur Pullet, what would you loike fur yer dinner, 
sur ; the masthur says I am to get ye what ye loikes to 
ate?” 

Mons. Paulette was an epicure. He noticed a number 
of pigeons flying about in the neighborhood, and fancied what 


58 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

a treat the dainty birds would be, so he gave his instructions 
in the best English he could command : 

‘‘You have ze pisheen, eh !” 

“Yis, sur ; we have pusheens.” 

“Eh bien, you cooke me une younge pisheen every day 
for my dinnaire. I like ze pisheen.’’ 

“Very well, sur.” 

“Tare an’ ages, but that sick Frinchman has the divil’s 
own taste ; fried frogs an’ butthered maggots fur his break- 
fast, an’ a briled kitten fur his dinner,” muttered Biddy Finni- 
gan as she sauntered out to the woodshed where the cat had 
her kittens. Supposing the Frenchman intended to say 
puslieen, the Irish for young pussy, Biddy proceeded to 
examine the kittens. 

“Musha it’s sorry I am to go take yer little family from 
ye, poor baste, but that frog-atin’ Frinchman cocked his eye 
on ’em, an’ divil a thing less id do him nor wan o’ yer 
pusheens fur his dinner.” 

Selecting a kitten from the lot, Biddy killed it, skinned 
it and jointed it, stewing with butter, flour and garlic, gar- 
nishing the dish with force meat balls made of bread crumbs, 
calves’ brains, thyme and parsley, fried in hot lard. The din- 
ner courses served in European style delighted M. Paulette. 

“How did ye loike the pusheen, sur? Was it cooked ter 
yer liken ?” inquired the domestic as she handed M. Paulette 
a match to light his cigar. 

“Perfaitment ! ci tender et ci bon !” replied the invalid 
as he seated himself on a rustic bench under the cherry tree 
to enjoy his after-dinner smoke. 

‘Faix aye, his bones is tindhur as a staggerin Bob’s, 
I dar say !” ejaculated the domestic as she went into 
dinner. 

After flnishing his cigar, the visitor took a stroll through 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 


59 


the garden, deciding to re-enter the house through the back, 
with a view to presenting a douceur to the servant for the 
extra labor his visit would entail. 

The kitchen door stood open, and, Biddy Finnigan 
washing the dishes, perceived the slow pace of the invalid- 
Compassion for the sick man’s condition prompted her to 
invite him in. 

“Ye can cum in this way, if ye like, sur. It’s the han- 
diest.” 

M. Paulette entered, and, placing a five dollar gold piece 
on the table, inspected the large airy kitchen, so different from 
the pent-up quarters alloted to culinary purposes in the 
houses of Nevada. His face beaming with admiration and 
astonishment, he expressed his appreciation of the commo- 
dious kitchen, partly in his native tongue. 

“C’est line grande cuisine for ze cook?” 

“Yer set fur a grand squeezin ’o the cook? Faix, ye’d 
betthur not thry it, me lad, or I’ll measure the linth and 
breth ’o my fist on yer countenance, so that yer own mother 
wouldn’t know ye.” 

Perceiving the gold coin, and supposing the proverbial 
gallantry and loose morals attributed to Frenchmen had 
prompted Mr. Paulette’s unseemly language, Biddy Finni- 
gan poured forth her ire with unabated fury. “Ye’ll give 
the cook a grand squeezin’, will ye? ye frog-atin spalpeen; 
to talk that way to a dacint woman. All I say is, thry it ; 
an’ it’ll be yer last hug, for I’ll give ye a welt o’ my fist 
that’ll smather yer faytures all over yer face loike butther 
on a hape o’ hot pancakes.” Shaking her fist in his face 
and brandishing the dishcloth in angry gesticulation the, irate 
domestic dumbfounded the Frenchman, who exclaimed : 

“Qu’elle horreur !” 

“Hell’s horror ! ye may well say it is. An’ I advise ye 


60 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

to keep yer squeezin’ fur the sort o’ cooks ye do have up in 
Nevada.” 

The invalid guest, astounded, gazed in wonder at the 
hostile demonstration ; and, as he offered no personal violence, 
the irate female began to cool down. 

“I may have tuk ye up wrong, sur; an’ if I did, I ax 
yer pardon. Fur I’ve a hasty timper, an’ sometimes it flies 
away wid me.” 

Jerusha Ann came in quest of the invalid visitor ; her 
father had a barouche at the door to take him out riding. 

Biddy Finnigan held no further conversation with the 
Frenchman until the sixth day of his visit, when the cat’s 
progeny becoming exhausted, the maid endeavored to induce 
a change of fare. 

“What’ll you have fur dinner to-day, sur; wouldn’t ye 
loike a change?” 

“Non ! Non ! Encore more pisheen ; you cook zo nize ; 
I like ze pisheen best !” The gentleman resumed his reading, 
and Bridget departed to the wood-shed, but soon returned 
hauling in the old gray cat. 

“Don’t ye think the owld wan is too tough? I’m afeered 
she’s a thrifle tough in the legs, sur, an’ as ye ate all her 
little pusheens, I thought I’d ax first before killin’ the poor 
baste, feerin she’s so owld ye moighten’d be able to chaw 
her.” 

Monsieur Paulette found the climate too trying to his 
constitution to remain in that country an hour longer. 


Ye et all her pusheens, an’ I’m afeerd the owld wan is a thrifle too tough In the 


$ 


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I 

















OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 


61 


CHAPTER IX. 

Deacon SmitJiers Seeks a Helpmate, — Jeruslia Ann 
Introduces a New Church Member, — The 
Widow Tucker. — Respecting the Wishes 
of the Dear Departed, 

Five motherless babes appealed to the paternal solicitude 
of Deacon Smithers. Feeling the incompleteness of mas- 
culine nature to cope with the wants of these dependent 
infants, deacon Smithers was looking around him for a 
helpmate. Seeking the sisterly counsel of Miss Smithers, 
he enumerated the eligible ladies. 

“There is sister Rodgers, a woman of Godly life; a 
discreet woman; not filled with the vanities of the giddy 
world. What think you of sister Rodgers, Jane? ’’ 

“That soLir-visaged relict of the last century, Eliza 
Rodgers? Surely, you could never think of putting a woman 
like that over your children, brother.” 

“Well, how would Mrs. Hunter, who sits in the third 
pew, on the right, do? She is a God-fearing woman, a neat, 
tidy housekeeper, and has a competency to support herself on. 
Dost thou approve Mrs. Hunter as a mother for my orphan 
babes, Jane ? ” 

“Henry Smithers! How do you suppose Elizabeth 
could rest in her grave, seeing that termagant Sarah Hunter 
placed over her children? No, she couldn’t do it! Sir.” 

“ Sister Fairfax hath a goodly income, and, though a 
little touched with the spirit of worldliness, yet I think she 
loves our little motherless dears.” 


I 


62 


BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 


“ She would need a big pile ; but all the money in the 
world, would never hide that ugly wart on her nose.” 

“Oh, sister! Miss Fairfax is not to blame for the 
shape of her features, nor the defects of nature. Surely, it 
is not Christian to mention bodily defects. I think, sister 
Fairfax, already loveth the innocent prattle of our lambs.” 

“ That’s all put on, just to catch you. She is an ugly 
old maid. Nobody wants to marry her, and so she just baits 
her hook, with a few candies for the children, hoping the 
the father will nibble at the bait. I think I know what 
Sally Fairfax is after. ^She don’t own the houses on Main 
street, either. That was a story given out to help her to 
catch a husband. She has only five years’ lease of that 
property.” 

“Ah! Perhaps, sister Fairfax is a little too much 
filled with the spirit of mammon to adorn, with the proper 
grace, the parsonage of Bethel Church.” Deacon Smithers 
sighed, as he pondered on the difficulty of finding a help- 
mate. 

“ Sister Tucker mourneth for the dear departed. I 
saw her yesterday, and she was bewailing her lonely state. 
Verily, the human heart seeketh sympathy. Perhaps, sister 
Tucker might be induced to listen to brotherly counsel, upon 
the sinfulness of grieving.” 

“ I reckon she might,” 

“ Sister Tucker, hath a comely presence, brown eyes, 
fair complexion, a graceful form, and a winning smile.” 

“ That is true.”. 

“With such a helpmate, the parsonage of Bethel 
Church would beam with feminine attractiveness ; and be 
an infiuence over the young, leading them unto righteousness. 
My mind is made up. I shall pay sister Tucker a pastorly 
call, and ask her to become a mother to my precious lambs.” 


OE, THAT EOMP OF A GIEL. 


63 


Deacon Smithers arose and reached for his hat. As he was 
leaving the sitting room, his maiden sister called after him : 

“Don’t commit yourself, brother, till you find out if 
the widow Tucker is engaged to Hiram Allan, the whole- 
sale grocer. Folks do say the wedding is to come oflf the 
fifteenth of next month.” 

Deacon Smithers heeded not the admonition. He bent 
his steps in the direction of Franklin street, where the 
widow Tucker resided. ^ 

All nature seemed to rejoice ; the rosy god of day was 
kissing the June roses into life and lovliness ; the sparrows 
hopping from branch to branch of the lilac bushes, carried 
twigs or bits of straw in their tiny beaks, suggestive of 
housekeeping intentions; the shrill scream of the jay, 
answered by the warbling of the katydid, told the same story 
of female sovereignty ; the croak of the bull frog sounded 
like a protest fvom jpater familias^ against feminine extrava- 
gance ; and the squabbles of the little “twit tweets” 
resounded with the echoes of family jars ; even the bees, 
hob-nobbed with the honeysuckle blossoms, and the festive 
mosquito spread himself to make a mash, on the blooming 
belle of the forest ; the horsefly yielding to the influence, 
stopped his labors and offered the leg of a dead ant, with 
true gallantry, to a female companion. Every object in 
earth, air or sky, seemed to beckon Deacon Smithers onward 
in quest of a mate. 

So he drew near the widow Tucker’s house. His heart 
beat with ponderous velocity, like the swish swash of a pro- 
peller’s paddle wheel, and his eyes swimming in delight, like 
young ducks in a horse pond, beheld the beauteous form of 
his lady love sitting in a rocking chair, near the front win- 
dow. 

The widow was arrayed in weeds of the deepest woe , 


64 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

her dress of jet black, had an annex of crepe extending 
to the waist, the sleeves terminated in a semi-basement of 
crepe, while a mansard with dormer-window attachments of 
the same fabric of woe, roofed the structure. 

Good morning, sister Tucker.” The Deacon placed 
his hat on the piano, and extended his hand in friendly 
greeting to the widow. 

Good morning, Deacon Smithers. Nice weather we 
are having,’’ answered the widow. 

“Yes, sister Tucker, the weather is inspiring. As I 
came along to make you a pastoral call, I noticed how all 
nature rejoices in companionship. The birds are building 
their nests, the insects fulfill their appointed tasks in couples, 
and every flower blossoming forth in beauty, is a reminder 
of double blessings.” The Deacon shifted his right leg over 
his left, as he moved his chair nearer the widow’s. 

Taking her pocket handkerchief, bordered with two 
inches of inconsolable woe, the widow began to weep into 
it : “ He ! used to talk just so. Ah, dear, dear, how can I 
survive him. To think, that I am here, and dear John laid 
away in Laurel Grove Cemetery. Eha — eha — Oh ! dear, 
dear, what shall I do ? ” 

Drawing his chair, just a little mite closer to the grief- 
stricken widow, the Deacon endeavored to console her. 

“ Sister Tucker, it is not good to mourn always. The 
sacred memory of the dear departed needs no such over- 
whelming outburst of feeling as this. You, as a good 
Christian woman, fulfilled every wifely duty to your husband 
while he was living, and have mourned him after death, with 
every demonstration of affection. Therefore, weep not, as 
one that cannot be comforted. I beheld the last tribute of 
wifely commemoration, erected to the memory of my esteemed 
friend, John Tucker, when I was at Laurel Grove, last week.” 


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“Seizing her hand as he jamnied his chair right up 
against the rocker, Deacon Smithers poured the balm of con- 
solation on the heart of the bereaved Sister Tucker.” 


[ 65 ] 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 65 

Between her sobs, the widow gasped out : “ Did — eha ! 
eha ! — Did you eha ! — eha ! — Did you think it worth a thou- 
sand dollars ? ’’ 

‘‘ Well, yes ; I should say it was a bargain at that price. 
Therein you have shown your respect for the prudent coun- 
sels of dear John. He always liked a close bargain.” 

‘‘ Yes, eha ! eha ! I always try to respect dear John’s 
wishes,” sobbed the widow. 

“ Sister Tucker. I feel the great solemnity of this 
occasion. Would that I could pour the balm of consolation 
on that bleeding heart. Would that I could inspire you 
with thoughts of the living, that you might take hope and 
consent to make another life happy.” 

The widow wiped the tears from her eyes, as she 
sighed : 

“Well, Deacon, I’ll try.” 

Seizing her hand, as he jammed his chair, right up 
against the rocker, the Deacon poured forth : 

“ Yes, sister Tucker ; to cease repining, to bind up the 
wounds of the afflicted, to influence the young heart to high 
and noble purposes, to comfort and solace another life, that 
is an aim that makes life worth the living. Can you do 
this?” 

“ I mean to try. Deacon, since you think it is my duty. 
For you know. Deacon Smithers, I always did try to do my 
duty. Though some long-tongued folks in this town go 
to talking about me, in regard to this very matter.” 

Giving the little white hand an impressive squeeze, 
the Deacon continued : 

“ The tongue of malice, ever inclineth to evil ; but with 
a husband to shield you, you need not fear.” 

“ Then, you think my getting married again wont 
scandalize the church members, Deacon?” 


66 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


“No! No! I feel that the church members will fully 
approve of the union, and your influence will be a benefit to 
the young, in leading them unto righteousness. 1 shall feel 
blessed in your presence at the parsonage, and five mother- 
less darlings shall cling to your motherly care 

“ Five children ! did you say. Deacon Smithers? If I 
don't make Hiram Allan smart for his deceit, my name is 
not Matty Tucker. He never let on to me he was married 
before ; always made out to me, he was a bachelor. I don't 
believe it. Deacon. Hiram Allan ain't twenty-four years 
'‘Old." 

Deacon Smithers widened his distance, and grasping 
his hat, remaiked that it was a mistake. “ He did not wish 
to sa}’' that Hiram Allan was the father of five children." 

“ I reckon 'tis a mistake. Deacon. Hiram wanted me 
to set the day earlier, but I promised dear John, before he 
died, that I would not marry again till the grass was dry on 
his grave ; and you know. Deacon, I always try to respect 
poor dear John's wishes." 

“The Deacon’s pastoral call came to a sudden close. 
Jerusha Ann, bowling her hoop on the pavement, while talk- 
ing to a lady, hailed the Deacon : “ Say! This is Mrs. 

Swipes, Deacon Smithers. She kind of thinks of joining our 
church. We're a goin' to Laural Grove Cemetery, to take a 
walk. Will you come along? " 

Mrs. Swipes, a lady with a blonde wig, and a general 
appearance of rejuvenated antiquity, acknowledged the 
introduction, and seconded the invitation. 

“ Do come with us, Deacon Smithers. I had the pleasure 
of listening to your beautiful gospel discourse on last Sab- 
bath, and was very much edified. As our young friend here, 
remarked, 1 have had some intention of becoming united 
with Bethel Church, and would like to know the rules." 


I 


* 




“Kespectin*^ the wishes of the dear departed, 1 promised 
dear John that I would not marry again till the grass was dry 
on his grave.” 





OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


67 


Thus appealed to, Deacon Smithers, accompanied Mrs. 
Swipes on her promenade, and expounded church matters to 
her, while Jerusha Ann trundled her hoop along the side 
walk. 

After walking through the pebbly avenues, shaded by 
weeping willows and reading the inscriptions on the tomb- 
stones, they returned to the cemetery gate, when Jerusha 
Ann called out : 

“ If there ain’t Hiram Allan, dressed in his Sunday 
clothes, a hitchin’ his horse to the hitchin’ post. As sure 
as I’m a livin’, if he aint got a new buggy too. Shouldn’t 
wonder if the widow Tucker wasn’t around. Look thar 
she is ! ” 

They looked in the direction indicated by Jerusha Ann’s 
hoop stick. There bending over the grave of the dear 
departed John Tucker, the widow, holding an enormous 
black fan in her hand, was fanning the grass dry on her 
husband’s grave. 


68 


BIDDY FINNiaAN's BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER X. 

Jerusha Ann^s New Hat, — Biddy Finnigan^s Opinion 
of a GhrusJied- Strawberry Peek-A-Boo , — “ Where 
is the Dhrawurs for the Tay-potP 

“ Arrah, where did you git that quare outlandish thing 
ye have on yer head, Jerushy ? ” 

‘‘ This is my new chrushed-strawberry Peek-A-Boo hat. 
How do you like it, Biddy ? ’’ 

“ Musha, it looks for all the world loike a mat made o’ 
withered rushes dipped in pig’s sowkin’s, an’ a wisp o’ dun- 
duckedy colored ribbons in the middle uv it ; nay thur bright 
red nor a good crimson.” 

“ Why, this is the latest style, Biddy. Everything is 
crushed-strawberry color now.” Jerusha Ann, placed her 
hat on a nail, and admired it.” 

“Shure, there’s no accountin’ for tastes, my dear, as the 
man said whin he kissed his cow. Where’s the dhrawurs 
for the tay-pot, Jerushy, yer mother towlt me to make tay 
fur afthur dinner, whin she wint to meetin’, an’ sorra wan o’ 
me kin find the dhrawurs fur the tay-pot? ” 

“ I reckon you will have to make a new pair, Biddy.” 
Jerusha Ann went to her mother’s work-box and brought 
some pieces of linen and lace to Biddy. “Maybe, you 
wont want to make them on the Sabbath, Biddy ? ” Seating 
herself on the kitchen door-step, Jerusha Ann amused her- 
self by throwing chunks of soup meat to the chickens and 
seeing them fight over the pieces of hot meat. When the 
door-bell rang, she ran to the front door to let her mother 


OB, THAT EOMP OF A GIRL. 69 

in, and told Biddy to dish the d^inner, as the folks were home 
from church. 

Mrs. Weathersby brought one of the ladies, of the 
sewing circle, home to dinner with her. 

Jerusha Ann set another place at the table, and cau- 
tioned Biddy to see that everything was all right before 
she rang the bell for dinner, as Mrs. Folsom was so awful 
stylish. 

“ Stylish? Be whipped to her for the airs she puts on. 
I seen more style in Sir Richard’s, in Mount Joy Square in 
Dublin, thin she cud ho wit a candle to in her whole life. An’ 
shure she is no spring chicken ; she wouldn’t crack undhur 
the wing. I’ll go bail, wid tindhurness.” 

Jerusha Ann laughed. “ Oh ! Biddy, she is so very 
particular. You know she is always saying some such word 
as beesom, ’cause it makes her lips go up kind of pretty, and 
she never disagrees with anybody ; she always sides with 
everybody’s opinion about everything.’* 

“ In throth I know her smooth ways ; she’d tickle the 
bricks to plaise the wall.” ^ 

Biddy arranged everything with particular care, served 
the courses in their proper order, got down the finger-bowls, 
which had never been used before in the Weathersby house- 
hold, and served them with the serviettes, Mrs. Folsom had 
taken occasion at a former time to snub Biddy. Shrewdly 
suspecting that the shoddy Mrs. Folsom was ignorant of 
the use of finger-bowls, Biddy served her first. 

Taking the bowl in her jeweled hands, Mrs. Folsom 
raised it to her lips and drank the contents. 

“Ach woman dear ye’ll fill yer belly wid wind, drinkin’ 
so much wathur. Shure it was to wash yer fingers in I gev 
it to you. Did ye never see finger-bowls before, alanna? 

We uses thim at this house every day,” 


70 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


Sam Weathersby chuckled as he dipped his fingers in 
the bowl and wiped them in the linen serviette. His wife 
and daughter showed such dexterity in the use of theirs, that 
their shoddy visitor felt at a considerable discount. The 
feeling was increased by the remark of Sam Weathersby : 

‘‘Try it, Mrs. Folsom. You’ll find it a handy institoo- 
tion for takin’ the stickin’ things from fruit ofif your fingers.” 
Nodding to Biddy to refill Mrs. Folsom’s bowl, the master 
of the household, by this stroke of policy, gained two points 
of advantage : he tickled his wife’s vanity in upholding the 
family dignity, and cemented the friendly feeling of his 
domestic, who, by a series of little trifles, had succeeded in 
establishing the master’s supremac3\ 

When Mrs. Weathersby ordered the tea, Biddy brought 
the tea-pot on a salver. But when the family beheld a bung 
with plume of white paper ornamenting the spout, and 
another in the air hole of the lid, it was a tax to keep their 
risibilities in check. 

Mrs. Folsom asked “what are those things on your 
tea-pot Mrs . W eather sby ?” 

“The latest style in Decorative Art, Mrs. Folsom. 
Oscar Wilde, the great Esthete, told us how to decorate ou** a 
homes you know,” replied Jerusha Ann as she passed the 
cake-basket around. 

“Biddy will explain the matter to you,” added Mrs. 
Weathersby. 

“Thim is tay dhrawurs, mam. The quality always uses 
dhrawurs, mam, fur ye see the rayson uv havin’ dhrawurs on 
the tay-pot : The sintimint o’ the tay is kep in the pot an’ 
doesn’t be wandhurin aflf in the air ; the wathur takes a 
powerful grip o’ the tay, an’ that’s the way we git the rale 
juice out o’ the lafe, an’ the fine flavor o’ the tay, mam.” 

Soon after dinner was over, Mrs. Folsom went home. 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIBL. 


71 


The Weathersby’s style of living would be gazetted all over 
the town before the end of the week, and Mrs. Weathersby 
rejoiced that her stock, in the^social scale, would go up in 
consequence. For once she was pleased with a green-horn 
girl. 

Jerusha Ann went up to Biddy’s room and proposed a 
conundrum to her. ‘‘Say Biddy, why am I like a manufac- 
turer of lucifers ?” 

“Bekase there’s so much o’ the divil in ye, I suppose.” 

“No. It is because I am a match-maker. Deacon 
Smithers has been to tea three times this week at the widow 
Sikes ; I am the cause of her joining the church. You wait 
and you’ll see some fun one of these days,” 


72 


BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XI. 

Diagnosis of Deacon Smithers* Symptoms. Pastoral Calls. 

* The White Choker Period, — The Widow Sikes Baptized 

by Immersion . — Why that Romp of a Girl Recruited 
New Church Members. 

As THE grasshopper hoppeth o’er Kansas prairie, as the 
gray gander waddleth toward the white goose, as the 
cockroach inclineth toward the damp places, as the racoon 
hankereth over the chicken-coop, as the tom-cat warbleth 
nocturnal praises of the feline Marias, so the festive widower 
wooeth the pining widow. 

The medical practitioner diagnosis a case by the symp- 
toms of the disease. First a slight cold, then a diffuse 
blowing of the probocis, followed by a slight fever ; fever 
increasing, pulse high, fever alarming, then the crisis. 

To make use of a metaphor, the diagnosis of Deacon 
Smithers’ widowership was undergoing the different stages 
of the disease that precedes the final crisis, ending in the 
total annihilation of the widower’s state. 

The disease first broke out in a slight eruption of little 
specks of admiration distributed over the entire surface, then 
followed a chill ; a faint repression emanating from the widow 
Sikes, as a sort of reserve power, condensing the amatory 
fiuid into steam. Then came a profuse blowing of his own 
horn, by the patient ; a subdued fever manifesting itself by 
sudden gushes marked the next symptom of the malady ; 
fever, local in the beginning, at last becomes general ; pulse 
indicating a hundred and twenty beats ; treatment palliative, 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


73 


rather than retroversi\^e ; sops, toast and teas administered 
by the widow ; fever raging, patient becomes delirious, 
threatens to end his widower existence ; a feminine hand 
brings state of the disease to a final crisis. 

Deacon Smithers in the discharge of his ministerial 
duties, first called upon the widow Sikes as he was passing by 
in his every-day attire ; next he brushed his coat before calling ; 
then he wore his Sunday hat, when about to visit sister 
Sikes ; after that he put on a clean shirt ere bending his 
steps in the direction of her residence, and at last he donned 
his entire Sunday suit, white choker, and kid gloves, as he 
sallied forth to expound the scriptures to the new church 
member. 

All these manifestations caused Miss Jane Smithers to 
dwell in a perturbed state of anxiety. When the white 
choker period arrived, she gave a deep sigh as she saw her 
brother shut the front door after him, and immediately call- 
ing the children together, she told them their papa was 
going to bring a new mamma home ; she guessed she’d have to 
pack the trunk and start for the East. 

Jerusha Ann came to play with Susy Smithers, and Susy 
in a burst of uncontrollable grief, conveyed the sad tidings 
to her friend. 

“Dry up. Sue, she ain’t half as bad as you think. I know 
her, an’ tain’t true she’s a connivin widow neither. I’ll tell 
you what to do : You just let on you think she is awful 
young, an’ she’ll give you a blue satin polonaise for your doll 
or anything you’ve a mind to.” 

Susy dried her tears and brought out her china set, and 
the children had a party under the apple-tree in the back 
yard. Jane Smithers refusing the supplies, Jerusha Ann 
appealed to Biddy Finnigan, who opened the cake-box and 
picked the specked apples out of the barrel for her, besides 


74 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

giving ‘‘ a grain o’ tay an’ a meischaun o’ butthur to the feast,” 
a couple of cut pies piled into the basket completed the outfit, 
as Biddy imparted her favorite advice: “Ye’ll be a child 
but wanst in yer life,” so make the best uv it, while ye can ; 
for childhur must be childhur till the ind o’ the wurld.” 

The children had a high-old time. Alphonse Fitzdoodle- 
dom and Johnny Rodgers joined them, and put up a swing in 
the apple-tree, and they pla3'ed till supper time. 

As Jerusha Ann slipped in with the empty basket 
through the alle}^ gate, she imparted the news to Biddy. 

“Sa}’, Biddy, it’s did. Deacon 8mithers is going to be 
married to Mrs. Sikes. She is goin’ to be baptized next 
Sunday. Don’t you want to cum an’ see her?” 

“Is it me go inside o’ the Bethel meetin’-house? In 
throth, I’ll not?” answered Biddy. 

“ ’Taint in no meetin’-house. Don’t you know the 
Baptists always baptize in the river. There’s a lot goin’ in, 
on Sunday, down below Rodger’s mill. Sajr, wont 3’ou 
come*? There is goin’ to be cake and ice cream and candies 
passed around to the Sunda3^-school children ; I’ll get 3"ou 
some.” 

Jerusha Ann coaxed an afiirmative reply from Bidd3^ 
at last, as she fastened her clean apron in the back. 

On Sunday, at the appointed hour, a large concourse of 
people from the country around, assembled at the appointed 
place, to witness the ceremony of Baptism by immersion. 
A number of candidates, attired in the usual garments, 
awaited the coming of Deacon Smithers, who was to be the 
oflSciating minister. Among them all, none seemed happier 
than the widow Sikes, whose gorgeous rainment, beautiful 
blonde hair, blooming cheeks, and lily-white skin, attracted 
the attention of all observers. 

Jerusha Ann got Bidd3^ Finnigan a seat on a cracker 





“ Beaming with inward consciousness tliat she was about to become one of the elect, 
the widow waded boldly in; wlieu, lo I her off 1< g bobbed up serenely, and floated on the 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


75 


box, and taking her position on the end of a log that jutted 
out over the ri\er bank, called to Biddy to look out, Deacon 
Smithers had just come. 

After exhorting the candidates. Deacon Smithers waded 
in and commenced the dipping. The ceremony went on all 
right till he came to Mrs. Sikes. 

Beaming with inward consciousness that she was about 
to become one of the elect, the widow waded boldly in ; 
when lo ! her off-leg bobbed up serenely and floated on the 
tide. This caused a suspension of her equilibrium, and the 
upper portion of her body rotated considerably^, then with a 
sudden dash, flopped into the swift current ; the seething 
waters caught the widow’s blonde locks and bore them 
triumphantly away. 

Orrah ! Will you look, Jerushy. The poor craythur’s 
hair is tore out by the roots. Musha, what ails her leg? It’s 
saized wid a sudden lightness ! ” exclaimed the compas- 
sionate maiden from Hibernia’s Isle. 

Laughing till the tears came from her eyes, Jerusha Ann 
exclaimed : 

“Oh Dear! This is what I’ve labored for. Oh, dear 
me, just look again ! ” They carried the limp form of the 
widow Sikes to the shore and administered restoratives. 
Alas ! no restorative could bring back the bloom to the 
widow’s cheeks. The relentless waters mingling with the 
“Bloom of Youth,” caused the complexion compound to 
flow in streaks down her cheeks, till she looked like a Com- * 
anche Chief, painted for the war-path. Jerusha Ann let 
Biddy into the secret. The widow Sikes had a wooden leg. 
That was why she got her to become united with Bethel 
Church. 


76 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHEEATION ; 


CHAPTER XII. 

A Spiritual Seance at Sam Weathersby’ s — Extraordin- 
ary Manifestations — That Romp of a Qirl Tries 
Her Skill as an Interviewer of the Dead — Real- 
istic Materialization of the Spirits Breaks 
up the Circle — A Simultaneous Stam- 
pede — Jerusha Ann^s Sunday 
School Lecture, 

Sparks flying like sky rockets on a fourth of July, 
lighted up the great big blacksmith shop, where Jack Car- 
son hammered the anvil, and fitted shoes on the equines 
that the livery- stable man brought to be shod. 

The air was redolent of burning horse hoofs, ammonia 
and the fumes of sputtering iron, yet there sat a female 
form, undeterred by the commingling smells, from holding 
a familiar chat with the blacksmith’s hoy. 

Attired in a handsome suit of pink chambrey, with a 
satchel filled with school books hung at her back, Jerusha 
Ann Weathersby, seated on a pile of old tackling and 
broken wagon- wheels, importuned the juvenile son of Vul- 
can to aid her. 

“ Say, Jack, won’t you do it?” 

“ It’s awful risky, sis.” 

“ Who said it wasn’t. Wouldn’t be no fun in it, if it 
wasn’t risky.” 

“ I guess Dr. Arnot would have me put in the peni- 
tentiary for it, if I was caught.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 77 

Slinging her satchel on a case of horse shoes, Jerusha 
replied : 

“ See here, Jack Carson, if you ain’t got spunk 
enough to do it, I’m agoin’ to ask Johnny Rodgers to fix it 
for me ; and you needn’t bring your belly-gutter to slide 
down our hill next winter, neither.” 

‘‘ I’ll do it, Jerushy ! Don’t you ‘ go back ’ on me for 
that lop-sided Johnny Rodgers.” 

‘‘All right. You bring a bottle of phosphorus with 
you, an’ come round by the back-alley gate, after school is 
out, an’ I’ll let you in.” 

Won’t your maw go for me, if I do? ” 

‘‘She is gone to spend the day with Mrs. Folsom. 
They fixed the cabinet this morning. I got Biddy to leave 
the step-ladder in the parlor so we could have the 
use of it.” 

“Oh, the hired girl is into it, eh! Then I guess we 
can fix things all hunki-dorie.” 

“Don’t fail to be on hand, prompt. Jack. I’ll help 
you carry the illustrious personator of George Washington, 
Napoleon Bonaparte, George Eliot, and James A. Gar- 
field.” Jerking her satchel over her shoulder, Jerusha 
Ann departed from the blacksmith shop and hurried off to 
school. 

After schuol was dismissed. Jack Carson’s whistle at 
the back-alley gate was answered by the appearance of Je- 
rusha Ann, with a bundle of brown wrapping-paper, and a 
ball of twine. 

Together they sallied forth, in the direction of the med- 
ical college. 

“You boost me over the fence. Jack, first,” whispered 
Jerusha Ann to her companion. 

Jack Carson was a strong youth, in his seventeenth 


78 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


year. He assisted her to climb the fence and vaulted over 
the enclosure after her. 

Filing off one of the iron bars that protected the base- 
ment windows, he raised the sash and crawled in, leaving 
Jerusha Ann on the outside. ‘ She fastened the cord around 
the wrapping-paper and lowered it after Jack. Soon after 
a bulky, long package, securely wrapped and tied, was 
thrust through the opening. 

Making their way over the fence, Jerusha Ann and her 
companion, carrying the bundle between them, took a short- 
cut across lots, to the rear of the Weathersby abode. 

Biddy Finnigan opened the gate for them, and told 
them the}^ must hurry up with their fixin’s, as Mrs. Weathers- 
by had sent word she was coming home to tea at six. 

Screw-eyes were inserted in the tops of the door and 
window-casings in the front parlor, where the cabinet for 
the seance had been erected. 

Unfolding the package, a human skeleton was brought 
out. Painting the ghastly object all over with phosphorus, 
Jack Carson adjusted it so that by a system of check- 
strings, the skeleton could be made to dance around the 
room in a circle ; then he placed it horizontal!}^ lying on top 
of the cabinet, covering it with a piece of black cambric 
muslin. Coarse spool-silk attachments, connecting with the 
wires on the ceiling, were concealed behind the damask cur- 
tains and passed through the key- hole. Biddy Finnigan 
being cautioned not to let them slip through when admitting 
the guests. 

There was to be a grand seance at Sam Weathersby’s 
house. Mrs. Folsom had become a medium, and had the 
power of producing most marvellous manifestations. It was 
announced that the spirits of George Eliot, Napoleon 
Bonaparte, George Washington and James A. Garfield 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 79 

would become materialized, and give their experiences in the 
spirit world. 

The members of the press were invited to witness the 
erection of the cabinet in the morning, and be present at the 
evening seance to investigate spiritual manifestations, and a 
company of the most select citizens would all be enlightened 
as to the state of their departed relatives. 

Nothing was left unfinished that could be done to show 
the etherial character of the ghostly visitors, who were to 
tip tables and go through the regular performances. 

That romp of a girl, Jerusha Ann, beheld the prepara- 
tions going on, and she determined to try her skill as a ma- 
terializer of the dead. 

After Dr. Arnot’s skeleton had been duly installed in his 
post of honor, she made Jack Carson borrow a white-faced 
owl and a tame squirrel. With these carefully hid in Biddy’s 
bed-room, as also, her able ally Jack, she was prepared for 
business. 

The elite of the elite, as the shades of evening fell, 
hastened to the Weathersby mansion. 

Among the guests was a pompous individual, a gentle- 
man descended from Pocahontas, He was a Virginian, and, 
of course, belonging to one of the first Virginy families (who 
ever saw a Virginian that belonged to the second family) , 
not only was Mr. William Henry Harrison Loring belonging 
to the F. F. V’s., but he delighted in recounting his military 
exploits, and the illustrious people with whom he claimed to 
be on terms of intimacy, going through the long list on every 
trivial occasion. 

The guests had all assembled, Mrs. Folsom arrived, 
and was duly examined, to see that she had no contrivance, 
for cutting herself loose, concealed about her clothing, after 
which she was placed in the cabinet and fastened with a 


80 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

rope, after the usual manner of spirit mediums. Biddy 
Finnigan was stationed at the door to prevent its being 
opened during -the seance. The lights were extinguished, 
the ladies and gentlemen caught hold of hands forming a 
circle and awaited developments. Tip, tap — the table tilted. 

‘‘Who is there?’’ demanded Sam Weathersby. A 
spiritualist explained that it would be necessary to put the 
question in a different form. 

Mr. W. H. H. Loring objected. 

“I think, ladies and gentlemen, the question of our 
host is eminently proper. No true lady or gentleman, 
whether in the flesh or in the spirit, would refuse to give his 
name or pedigree.” 

Scarcely had Mr. Loring flnished his remarks, when the 
owl, which Jerusha Ann just then let loose, flapping his 
wings, hit Mr. Loring on the cheek, as he flew past, giving 
forth the hoot, which, under the circumstances to the ex- 
cited imagination of the Virginian, seemed to say: 

“ Whoo — whoo — who are you — ” 

“ I am William Henry Harrison Loring, descended 
from one of the flrst Virginian families ; served as chief of 
staff with Gen’l, Sherman during the late war; commanded 
the frigate E Pluribus Unum in the war with Tripoli ; the in- 
timate friend of El Hafid Mahomet, Khedive of Egypt; 
private secretary to Abdul Asiz, Sublime Porte of Tur- 
key ; amanuensis of Louis Napoleon ; political adviser of 
President Lincoln ; served as second to the Count Zuriarokoff 
in a duel with the Duke Alexis ; beside many important po- 
sitions which I have filled at foreign potentates’ headquarters. 
Pray, sir, who are you? ” 

The owl, perched on the top of the window, failed to 
respond to the question, and the spiritualist, annoyed at the 
interruption, put the question : ^ 


OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


81 


“ Is it the spirit of James A. Garfield that is withus? ’’ 

Three taps of the table responded in the aflSrmative. 

“ Ah ! I beg your pardon, General, I might have 
known by your familiarity in tapping my cheek, that it was my 
old chum. President Garfield,’’ W. H. H. Loring apologized. 

‘‘ Will 3'ou materialize?” asked Mr. Brown. 

A faint, shadowy outline of the late President was re- 
fiected in the door of the cabinet, which drew forth murmurs 
of satisfaction from the guests. One of the ladies asked the 
medium if she could summon the spirit of her darling Daisy, a 
three-year-old daughter, who had journeyed to the spirit land. 

Three raps of the table showed that the spirits were 
disposed to be very accommodating. 

“ Is the spirit of Daisy present ? ” asked the lady. 

Jerusha Ann jerked the tame squirrel into the room, 
and Bunny’s pattering feet were plainly heard by the in- 
terested investigators. The squirrel went round the circle, 
and finally clambered up the mother’s skirts, perching with 
tail erect on her shouldef. 

‘‘Oh, I feel the darling’s golden curls fanning my 
cheek!” exclaimed the delighted parent. 

The strange voices frightened Bunny, and the 
animal scampered over the table, across the carpet and 
sought shelter in the window curtains. 

“Ah, ah, did you feel her little feet?” asked Mr. 
Brown. “ I felt them distinctly.” 

“ Felt uncommonly like a rat chasing over my hands,” 
remarked Mr. Weathersby. 

“Your impressions correspond with mine, sir,” said 
Will Wilson, a press reporter. 

“ Must squeeze their feet like the Chinese, in the spirit 
land, to make a three-year-old child’s foot less than half an 
inch,” muttered the incredulous host. 


82 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

‘‘Now, Sam, can’t you keep still; you’ll keep the 
spirits from manifesting. You always must have the 
measure and rule for everything. That’s not the way we 
shall become enlightened. You must believe and be silent,” 
observed Mrs. Weather sby. 

“ Don’t want any rats in mine, Keziah,” snarled the un- 
believing husband. 

Mr. Brown, the spiritualist, said he felt the table moving, 
and asked : “Is the spirit of the great military hero present ? ” 
The shadowy outline of Louis Napoleon was revealed 
in the cabinet door. 

The Virginian felt a little uncomfortable, yet, as he had 
professed to be such an intimate acquaintance of the de- 
ceased emperor, he asked the shadow : 

' “ Do you remember me, emperor? ” 

Just then the owl, catching a sight of the glistening 
skeleton, flew from his perch to the top of the cabinet, hoot- 
ing : ‘ ‘ Whoo — whoo — whoo — who-are-oo . ” 

“ 1 am William Henry Harrison Loring, the gentleman 
from Virginia, who was your amanuensis at the time of the 
Tripoli Alliance Concordiat. The adviser of President 
Lincoln, the Charge d’ Affairs with the Pshah of Persia. 
Surely you can not have forgotten your old friend, William 
Henry Harrison Loring, the descendant of Pocahontas? It 
was in hopes of renewing our friendly relations, emperor, 

that I came to this seance to-night, ” 

Jack Carson, stationed outside the door, now began 
operations with the check-strings. Gradually the skeleton, 
glimmering with phosphorus was brought down. In itsgira- 
tions, the long frame bobbed its head into the cabinet ; the 
sightless skull, with its grinning teeth, hitting the medium, 
and apparently missing her, freezing the very mai-row of her 
bones with fright. 


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OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


83 


When the pedal extremities touched the floor, then be- 
gan the dance of death ; the hideous skeleton, every bone 
gleaming with phosphoric light, girated around the ht)rrified 
spectators ; the ghastly grin and fantastic contortions, ren- 
dered a thousand limes more hideous by the inky blackness 
pervading the apartment. To add to the horror, the squirrel, 
frightened by the apparition, sprang from its hiding-place, 
and clambered first on one and then on another of the spec- 
tators. The owl, alarmed, swooping down from the top of 
the cabinet, his white face and glaring eyes distended to un- 
natural proportions, the flapping of his wings and shrill cry 
added discord to the pandemonium. 

Like Macbeth’s guests, the investigators of spiritualism 
didn’t stand upon the order of their going. 

The horrified lady-medium rushed to the door, followed 
by the lineal descendant of one of the first Virginia families ; 
Mrs. Weathersby making her exit in quicker time than a 
flash of lightning ; the mincing lady of fashion distancing 
the reporterin her long strides for the door ; the enthusi- 
astic disciple of Andrew Jackson Davis wedging himself in 
the middle between the ladies who had gained the door- way, 
and even the incredulous host, who struck out on a two- 
forty race for the hall with such vigor, that his boot-heels 
struck the aristocratic Mrs. Fitzdoodledom in the nose. 

Never was there a more striking example of that truism : 
“ Death is the great leveler of all. ” 

Jerusha Ann and Jack Carson climbed up the cherry 
tree, at the beginning of the stampede. As Jerusha beheld 
the last coat-tail fluttering over the front pailings, she de- 
livered this Sunday-school lecture to her accomplice : 

‘‘It is not wealth, nor birth, nor rank, nor state, its 
the get up and git, that makes men great. 


84 


BIDDY FIINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The Widely ShannaJion’s Mercantile Correspondence , — 

An Original Bill, — Jerusha Ann Teaches her Pa 
a System of Keeping Foreign Accounts hy 
Double Entry, 

Norah Shannahon, relict of one Patrick Shannahon, 
was the keeper of a grocery and provision store. Hanks of 
onions festooned the show window above, while red herrings, 
Yarmouth bloaters, crackers, cheese, butter and the best 
‘‘ Irish black tay,” displayed in artistic confusion beneath, 
attracted the attention of passers-by. 

Milk cans polished brightly, standing inside the door, 
were supposed to convey by their appearance a sufficient 
intimation, that milk was kept on sale. 

Since Weathersby’s cow was sold, Jerusha Ann in 
her predatory excursions in search of milk, formed the 
acquaintance of the widdy Shannahon. 

Now, it frequently happened, that Jerusha Ann felt 
very uncomfortable, on account of the very limited supply 
of pocket money allowed her by her maternal relative, and 
as change was scarce when milk was needed in haste, she 
was sometime authorized to get the milk on credit, a privilege 
which opened a new source of revenue to her. 

Norah Shannahon’s system of book-keeping was 
unique. To use her expressive metaphor, the ready reckoner 
was often as puzzling as a problem in Euclid. 

Cash-book, day-book, journal and ledger were all com- 
bined in one volume, viz.,^ the doorframe. 


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‘‘Norah Shannabon’s Bill.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL, 


85 


The widdy Shannahon^s system of keeping accounts 
consisted of entries in original etchings ; pictures which by 
an association of ideas, in the mind of the accountant, 
represented her debtors, as also the various commodities 
which she had given them on credit. 

Thus, she was enabled to understand that Samuel 
Weathersby owed for a quart of milk, by making an outline 
of a w^eather-vane with a cock crowing, for the debtor, and 
an O for the quart of milk ; small o signifying a pint. That 
Mr. Carpenter had obtained a peck of onions on credit, by 
the outline of a saw and a symbol of the measure of onions ; or 
Mr. Bacon, by a ham, with a small o, denoting a pint of milk. 
Matters went along smoothly enough until Mrs. Hennipin 
was added to the list of debtors. The introduction of a 
hen in the ledger, under the artistic treatment of the widdy 
Shannahon, was the source of confusion, owing to the im- 
possibility of distinguishing between the hen and the 
weather- cock. 


Jerusha Ann called for the milk-bill, and was consulted 
by the proprietor of the store, as to which was her father’s, 
and which Mrs. Hennipin’s account. The door jamb had an 
index heading on it. The account stood : 

Owing. 


Mr. Weathersby 

Mr. Carpenter....... i, 

Mr. Bacon 

Mrs. Hennipin 

Mr. Weathersby 

Mr. Bacon 

Mrs. Hennipin 

u « 

Mrs. Harts 

Mr. Taylor 

Mrs. Hennipin 

Mr. Weatliersby 

Mr. Taylor 


1 quart of milk. 
1 peck of onions. 
1 quart of milk. 
1 gallon of milk. 
1 gallon of milk. 
1 pint of milk. 
1 lb. of candles. 
1 lb. of starch. 
1 pint of milk. 
1 gallon of milk. 
1 quart of milk. 
1 gallon of milk. 


86 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

“Come here, alanna, I^m flusthrificated an’ divil a 
wan o’ me can make head or tail of how the schore stands 
at all, at all. You see where I put it down last. I dunno 
whether it was Misthur Taylor got the hank o’ sausage, or 
yer father ; nor the pound uv Irish black tay, ye see here 
done up in the wan pound bundle wid a taypot smokin’ on 
top. Was it youze or the Hennipins got the pound o’ black 
tay last week? I’m a poor schollard, an’ I got the weather- 
cock so near the taypot, that my mind is upsot.” 

Jerusha Ann burst out laughing, after which she pro- 
ceeded to elucidate the hieroglyphic account. 

“Was it the pants or the rooster that got the sau- 
sages, Mrs. Shannahon ? ” she inquired, puzzled at 
last. 

“ Shure, I have no schore wid a Misthur Pants, avour- 
neen.” 

“Oh! I forgot, I mean Mr. Taylor. What would 
you do if you had another customer, a Mr. Pants. How 
could you write down his account ?” 

“ Och! that’s aisy enough. I’ll make a coat for the 
Taylor, an’ the briches ’id be for thother.” 

Jerusha Ann figured up the bill, and found that two 
dollars was the amount of her indebtedness. 

Mrs. Weathersby declared she never owed that amount, 
and refused to pay the bill ; but Jerusha Ann went down to 
her pa’s store, to collect the funds. 

“ Say, pa 1 What will you give me to teach you a new 
system of book-keeping, so you can keep accounts in any 
language 2 Is it worth five dollars?” 

“ I should say so.” 

“Well, hand out the cash, and I shall induct you 
into the mysteries of foreign accounts.” 

Sam Weathersby gave his daughter a five dollar bill, 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


87 


and she proceeded to make a fac simile of the widdy Shan- 
nahon’s ledger on the door jamb. 

Tickled at his daughter’s cuteness, Sam Weathersby 
threw her a silver dollar extra. 

I reckon you and Bidd}^ can find a place in the circus 
this afternoon for that Jerusha Ann. Run off and enjoy 
yourself.” 

“ That gal is just as smart as they make ’em ; a regular 
chip of the old block. She always did take after her dad,” 
remarked Sam Weathersby as he watched the retreating 
form of his only daughter. And she sped with the fleetness 
of a deer in the direction of the Weathersby abode. 


88 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Mrs. Weathershy Entertains Her Aristocratic Neiglibon 
Biddy Flnnigan Larns Frinch .^’ — “ The lioosthur 
is RunnM Over the Cellar^ Mam.’’ Yankee 
Cows Talk. — Stewing Crab-apples for Tea. 

“Don’t ask me questions like that, Bidd3\ Do just 
as I tell 3’ou to. It is so stupid to have you always asking 
questions,” the shrill voice of Mrs Weathershy denoted 
that the lady of the household was not in the very best 
humor. 

“ Oh, very well, mam. I’ll not ax ye any more. I only 
wanted to be sure, how ye wanted ’em done, mam. So I’d 
plaise ye.” 

“I tell you now, once for all : bake these in the oven, 
and here are some crab-apples ; stew these crab-apples for 
tea.” 

“ Is it for tay, mam,” Biddy elevated her eyebrows in 
astonishment. 

“ There it is again, what did I just tell you? ” 

“ Oh, well, I won’t do it agin, mam. I’ll be as dumb as 
an oysthur.” 

Mrs. Weathershy shook her silken train and tossed 
her head in lofty disdain, as she passed out of the kitchen. 

But the real source of her ill-temper was not the do- 
mestic’s annoyance, it was the disappointment in not having 
the new lace-curtains hung in the parlor-windows, for the 
aristocratic Mrs. Fitzdoodledom was coming to spend the 
afternoon and take tea, and it was an effort that taxed the 


89 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 

forbearance of the hostess, to be able to receive her guest 
with becoming dignity. 

Scarcely had the common courtesies of greeting, and in- 
quiries regarding the health of the different members of 
each family been exchanged, when a violent commotion in 
the poultry -yard prevented further conversation. Ringing 
the bell violently, Mrs. Weathersby demanded the reason 
for this unusual noise. 

“Biddy, what is all that noise about?’" 

“ Its Rodger’s cock, mam, that’s fightin’ our bantam ; 
an’ he has his gills bleedin’.” 

Mrs. Weathersby excused herself to her guest, and 
went out with Biddy to restore quiet. 

“ Biddy, you must never say that word again. Do you 
hear?” 

“ An’ what will I call him, mam? ” 

“You must say rooster.” 

“Rooster! Well, I’ll thry, mam. I suppose that’s 
the Frinch for cock ; I’ll say rooster thin.” « 

Pouring a couple of buckets of water over the bel- 
ligerant fowls was successful in putting an end to the 
battle. Biddy kept repeating the word rooster to herself, 
as she fed the poultry, and muttered her individual com- 
ments. 

“Rooster! Musha, its little I thought I’d be takin’ 
lessons in Frinch at my time o’ day. Nauthin’lldo herself, 
since that frog-atin’ Frinchman paid us a visit, but talkin’ 
Frinch. If it wasn’t for himself and Jeriishy, though 
she’s a wild divil wid her thricks, there ’ud be no 
sthandin’ in the wan house wid herself. She has as 
many airs as id float a man o’ war. 

Biddy set about preparing the mash for the new 
cow, and when it was ready, tried to induce Bossy to eat it. 


90 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


“ Here it is for ye, now, an illigant bran-mash. Don’t 
be lookin’ sheepish an’ bashful that way. Will ye ate yer 
supper? ” 

The cow, annoyed by th6 pestering flies, shook her 
head. 

“ Is it no, yer sayin’ ? Faith, then ye’ll live to ate the 
cook that makes soup uv yer own tail, before I make ye a 
betthur mash nor the wan that is forninst ye.” 

Bossy appeared to reconsider the subject, and fell to at 
her supper, as Biddy returned to the kitchen and got out 
the berries to pick. 

Another tugging at the bell summoned her attendance 
at the parlor. 

“Draw a pitcher of cider, Biddy, and bring it here, 
with cake and glasses,” commanded Mrs. Weathersby. 

Biddy descended to the wine-cellar where the cider 
was kept, and filled the silver pitcher with the amber fluid, 
but she could not stop off the cock, and the more she en- 
deavored to^ do so, the worse matters became. So she 
thought it best to appeal to her mistress to aid her. Re- 
turning hastily to the parlor, she was about to say the cider- 
cock was beyond her control, but remembering her mistress’ 
instructions never to say cock again, she communicated the 
intelligence : 

“ Och, Mrs. Weathersby, darling, I wint to dhraw the 
cidur an’ the rooster is runnin’ an’ I can’t sthop it, mam ; 
an’ its runnin’ all over the cellar, mam, an’ what am I to do 
wid it, mam? ” 

“ Oh, never mind the rooster, bring in the cider.” 

Biddy obeyed the order, but again importuned : 

“ Mrs. Weathersby, yu’d better come an’ see for your- 
self. The rooster is turned wrong, an’ its runnin’ all over the 
cellar, mam, an’ divil a bit o’ me can sthop it.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 


91 


“ Didn’t I tell you not to annoy me about that old 
rooster. Let him run all over the cellar if he wants to. 
You go and get supper ready now, and let the rooster alone,” 
retorted the petulant mistress, while her barrel of cider was 
rapidly decreasing. 

“Musha, God help me, I’m to be pitied — Sthriven 
to plaise every wan, an’ its more kicks nor ha’pence I gets 
for me pains.” Biddy scratched her head, and gazed at the 
crab-apples, puzzled to remember the special instructions re- 
garding them. 

“I moight as well sell me head for a ha’penny, as to ax 
what she wants done wid these. Oh, I have it. Stew the 
crab-apples for tay. Thim was her ordhurs.” 

Biddy peeled and pared the apples, put them in the tea- 
pot and stewed them with a liberal allowance of water, 

Sam Weathersby greeted Mrs. Fitzdoodledom with the 
utmost urbanity, as he put cream and sugar in his tea, and 
recalled the last occasion upon which he had the honor of 
entertaining her. 

“I owe you an apology for my boot-heels, Mrs. Fitz- 
doodledom, but I sw^ar the darned spirits got me so 
scared I made tracks for the street so quick, that night of 
the seance, I never stopped to look who was cornin’ arter.” 
Here Mr. Weathersby raised his tea-cup, and took a great 
swallow of the exhilarating beverage. 

But Mr. Weathersby instantly arose from the table and 
began sputtering into the spittoon. 

“ Tarnation sakes ! What infernal stuff is that ye have 
for tea, Keziah? ” 

Mrs. Weathersby sipped her tea, and her mouth looked 
like a rejected clam, while Mrs. Fitzdoodledom was taken 
with a sudden paralysis of the jaw, and clapped napkins, 
doylies and the table-cloth to the afflicted cheek, thereby 


92 BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHEKATION ; 

upsetting the floating island into the charlotte russe, and 
knocking the preserved cherries into the cake- basket, making 
floating islands of the rich fruit, jelly and cream cake. 

In answer to the bell, Biddy Finnigan made her appear- 
ance, and her mistress fiercely interrogated her : 

* “ What on earth did you do to the tea? ” 

“Bad scran to the grain o’ tay I used this day ; ye towlt 
me to stew the crab-apples for tay, an’ I follied yer ordhurs, 
mam.” 

Sam Weathersby burst out laughing. 

“Well, take the tea-pot out and make us a good cup of 
tea, Biddy, and help Mrs. Fitzdoodledom out of her scrape, 
while I get the bottle of pain-killer for her jaw.” 

The disordered dishes were removed, clean napkins and 
fresh relays of confections brought forth, and the hostess 
entertained her visitor with a recital of all the blunders com- 
mitted by her greenhorn girl. Mrs. Weathersby was telling 
how Biddy had put a live spider on the stove and poured 
grease over it, when told to put the spider on to fry the 
doughnuts, much to the amusement of Mrs. Fitzdoodledom. 
Biddy entered the dining-room with a fresn pot of tea, the 
aroma giving evidence of the genuine article. 

Hoping to amuse her visitor by the comical answers of 
her Hibernian domestic, Mrs. Weathersby asked: 

“Biddy, did you give the cow her supper?” 

Assuming a look that was child-like and bland, Biddy 
replied : 

“I offered her her supper, but she said she wouldn’t 
take it.” 

“Said she wouldn’t take it. Wh}" Biddy do the cows 
in Ireland talk?” 

“No, mam ; they’re not up to the cuteness o’ the yankey 
cows. It’s the cows here that do be talking.” 


93 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIRL. 

Jerusha Ann and Mrs. Fitzdoodledom tittered and Sam 
Weathersby joined the chorus, white his spouse continued : 

“Wh}", Biddy! that’s the most extraordinary thing I 
ever heard of. What did the cow say?” 

“I med her a bran-mash as ye towlt me, mam, an’ whin 
I thried to make her ate it, she said no as plain as any 
yankee ever said it : she shook her head.” 


94 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’s BOTHEEATION; 


CHAPTER XV. 

Jack Tar Enforces Decorum During Divine Services on the 

Clerk of the Church. — Jerusha Ann makes the Dis- 
covery that Mj's, Fitzdoodledom^ s Back Drapery 
is Fiction Founded on a Stern Reality,^* 

The balmy breezes of a Sabbath morning, fragrant with 
the perfume of budding flowers, fanned the cheek of Jerusha 
Ann Weathersby as she stood at the front gate, taking an 
obscurial view of Mrs. Fitzdoodledom’s back drapery. 

Mrs. Fitzdoodledom had become exceedingly social of 
late with her neighbor across the wa}’^, and Jerusha Ann, as 
she stood next her mother attired in her Sunday-go-to-meet- 
ing suit, was taking a mental inventory of her rich neighbor’s 
motives and the geography of her back drapery, while her 
mother waited for Biddy Finnigan to bring her parasol and 
hymn-book from the wardrobe up-stairs. 

Jerusha Ann was prompt to act upon her opportunities, 
and regarding this pause as one of the golden opportunities 
once lost, lost forever, she determined to seize it ere the 
gnawing tooth of time had devoured it. 

Quietly opening her clasp-knife, Jerusha jabbed the 
sharp blade into the multitudinous folds of silk gauze that 
presented the appearance of a labrynth, incomprehensible 
as a Chinese puzzle, on that portion of Mrs. Fitzdoodledom's 
anatomy termed the posterior. 

Satisfied with her experiment, Jerusha obtained permis- 
sion from her mother to hasten on alone to the Episcopalian 


OR, THAT ROMP OP A GIRL. 95 

church that she might be in time for the morning Sunday- 
school. 

As she wended her way to the house of worship, 
Jerusha Ann indulged in little outbursts of merriment and 
soliloquized : 

‘‘I struck it that time sure. I guessed that hump o’ dry 
goods didn’t stand out like that without a foundation. 
Te-he, I reckon Mrs. Fitzdoodledom will create a sensation in 
church to-day.” 

“Never would have called for maw to go to church with 
her, if her husband had no ax to grind. I kin see through a 
fence as well as any of ’em. Calculates to get pa’s vote 
and some of the boys’ in the shop too, by it. If Horatio 
Fitzdoodledom wasn’t runin’ for Congress, I reckon maw 
might a sat on the chair till she’d grow’d to it, ’fore Mrs. 
Fitzdoodledom would call to take her to hear the Rev. Dr. 
Robinson’s eloquent Bible discourse.” 

Jerusha continued on her way in a cheerful state of mind. 

As she turned the corner of the street, she perceived a 
sailor, attired in his best, making his way toward the church. 

A new idea got possession of Jerusha Ann, and she 
waited on the corner till the jolly Tar came near, when she 
accosted him : 

“Say, mister ! Are you going to meetin’ to-day?” 

“I’m a steerin’ for that port, sis,” answered the hercu- 
lean son of Neptune. 

“Ah, I am so glad. You know how folks should keep 
still in church and behave themselves? Well, there is a man 
in church who won’t behave himself, he talks right out in 
meetin’.” 

“I’ll muzzle his hatchway, darn the lubber. Can’t he go 
below decks while the captain is given orders,” said the 
sailor. 


96 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


“Oh mister, you could help us so much if you keep him 
still during meetin’. You go right up to the first pew on the 
left near the pulpit, 3"ou’ll see a little man sittin’ in the pew, 
that’s him. I just wish 3^ou’d make him behave himself.” 

“I’ll make the lubber heave to an’ keep a silent watch,” 
was the sailor’s reply as he continued his swinging gait and 
entered the church. 

Jerusha Ann took her seat in church and began reading 
her hj^mn-book. She was so absorbed in her devotions, that 
when her mother and Mrs. Fitzdoodledom came to her pew, 
she had to be shaken by the shoulder before she perceived 
them. 

Red, 3’ellow and blue lights streamed through the stained 
glass windows of the sacred edifice, refiecting prismatic 
colors upon the gorgeous toilets of the ladies as they filed 
into their respective places. The mellow tones of the organ 
poured forth in solemn strains, and the swirl of the silken 
robes rustling against the pew doors became less distinct, as 
the Rev. Dr. Robinson attired in surplice, came forth to 
entone the solemn service. 

Praying in a loud clear voice, Rev. Dr. Robinson began 
the services. 

“Amen,” the clerk responded. 

“Shut up yer locker! Can’t ye keep still in church,” 
shouted the sailor in that falsetto voice usually denominated 
a pig’s whisper. 

Everyone in church tittered, except Jerusha Ann who 
continued absorbed in her devotions. 

The minister frowned his disapproval and again 
resumed the prayer. Perfect quiet reigned until the place 
where the- responses again were required. 

Louder than before the clerk answered : “Amen.” 

^‘Muzzle yer hatchwa3’’, 3^e land-lubber. Ain’t ye got 








. • 




\ 





“ There, I told ye, yed be put out if you didn’t stop your gab.” 




OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


97 


any manners ?” yelled the sailor into his companion’s 
ear. 

The minister coughed, turned around and stared menac- 
ingly at the front pew. 

“ I shall request the members of this congregation to 
preserve order during divine service, as talking is forbidden 
during the hours of worship.” 

Nudging the clerk, the son of Neptune made grimaces, 
calling his attention to the minister’s remarks. 

After a long pause, Dr. Robinson again resumed the 
prayer, and when he came to the responses, the clerk an- 
swered gravely : 

“Amen!” 

“ Talking is forbidden, didn’t ye hear the captain? If 
ye don’t shut up, you’ll be put out,” roared the sailor. 

Unable to endure the disturbance longer, the minister 
ceased his praying, and turning to the congregation, while 
looking at the occupant of the front pew, said in his severest 
tones : 

“ Will some one oblige me by putting that man out I ” 

“There! I told ye 3^e’d be put out if ye didn’t stop 
yer gab.” Seizing the clerk, who was very diminutive in 
size, the sailor clapped him under his arm and walked 
straight out of church with his struggling, writhing victim, 
depositing him on the sidewalk ; after which he returned to 
the church, his face beaming with the consciousness of hav- 
ing performed his duty. 

Even fashionable Christians could not resist the appeal 
to their risibilities, and though the organist, with uncommon 
tact, began a grand chorus to quell the agitation, yet ripples 
of merriment would break forth, despite the choir’s best 
efforts to drown it in a volume of song. 

The services were not prolonged to their usual length. 


98 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


Rev. Dr. Robinson did not impress his hearers with his 
usual calm, dignified utterances, and every one was glad 
when the exercises were brought to a close. 

One of the first to leave the church was Mrs. Fitzdoodle- 
dom, but, alas for human vanity, the aristocratic lady’s 
swan-like movements were followed by a zig-zag deposit of 
sawdust. 

There are depths in human forbearance not reached, 
when the exercises of cumulative catas trophies call for 
their development. 

As the members of Dr. Robinson’s fashionable congre- 
gation wended their way home, the route for a picket- fence 
surveyed by the sawdust from Mrs. Fitzdoodledom’s leaking 
bustle, appealed with irresistable force to that depth not 
dreamed of in the philosophy of polite society. 

Jerusha Ann informed Biddy Finnigan that she had 
made a discovery regarding Mrs. Fitzdoodledom’s back 
drapery, it was : “ Fiction founded on a stern reality.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


99 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Thanksgiving Day in the Kitchen, — Miss Lucinda,^ Will 

You do me de Indignity to favor me wid de Injection 
oh yer Company to de Pawty to-night^ ’’ — The 
Green-eyed Monster, — Ccesar’s Pre- 
dicament, 

Samuel Weathersby’s star was ascending in the social 
firmament, and Keziah, the partner of his joys, insisted that 
they should keep a carriage and a driver, of that particular 
shade of ebony, which imparts such an aristocratic air to 
the equipage of our Upper Tendoms, more familiarly known 
as “Big Bugs.” 

Sam Weathersby was wont to express the opinion of 
the late lamented Abe Lincoln, regarding the partner of his 
bosom : 

“There is jest one way you kin rule a woman, and I 
know how to do it. If you want to rule a woman, let her 
have her way in everything. That’s the secret, why I am 
the master in my own house.” 

This peaceful policy of Samuel Weathersby resulted in 
acquiescence to his wife’s wishes. 

How Deacon Smithers’ congregation did stare, when 
they beheld an elegant carriage with a pair of spanking 
bays, draw up in front of Bethel Church. 

Surprise gave place to astonishment when the ebony- 
skinned driver descended from his perch and opened the 
carriage door, with that peculiar grace and alacrity, the 


100 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

secret of which is known only to coachee’s of the African 
race. 

Mrs. Weathersby and her little daughter, attired in the 
most fashionable raiment, stepped out of the family carriage 
and promenaded to their pew, the first Sabbath after the 
addition of the family turnout, to the many evidences of 
social distinction, that had dazzled the eyes of the goodly 
citizens of Mudville ; and it is but fair to say that they 
were the observed of all observers. Nay, as a faithful his- 
torian chronicling the local events of the good city of 
Mudville, truth compels the admission that that turnout of 
Sam Weathersby’s had the effect of turning out all thoughts 
of the preacher’s text from his hearers’ minds. 

There was one individual who failed to rejoice at the 
advent of the n^ro coachman’s addition to the Weathersby 
household, that individual was the maiden from the Emerald 
Isle. 

“ Musha, what ailed yer mother to go hire the loike’s 
o’ that dhriver. Shure, he’s as black as the ace o’ spades, 
so he is,” was the confidential comment of Biddy Finnigan, 
as she unburthened her thoughts to Jerusha Ann. 

“ Well, he can’t help that, Biddy ; it’s all the efifects of 
climate. When Caesar was in Ireland, his skin was white, 
I reckon,” replied the hopeful daughter of Sam Weathersby. 

“ In Ireland ! did ye say?” interrogated Biddy. 

“Why, yes. You ask him about itl” Jerusha Ann 
slipped out to the stable and had a talk with Caesar, until 
dinner was announced. 

The burly form of the negro cast a shadow athwart the 
kitchen doorway soon after, and Biddy addressed the gentle- 
man from Africa : 

“ I say, me good man, where are ye from? ” 

“ I’se bawnd in Maryland, but I’se been through Ire- 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIBL. 


101 


land on my way out yondah, foa I earned hea,’’ the negro 
showed his ivories and seemed anxious to be on good terms 
with his questioner. 

‘‘ An’ so ye wor in Ireland on yerroad. An’ did ye cross 
the salt say whin ye cum over?” the conversation was now 
fairly started, and replies came readily from coachee. 

‘‘ No, I neber ; I cumed by de oberland route.” 

“ Arrah, what a pity I didn’t know that afore. I’d 
rathur*cum by land twinty times, myself, only I didn’t know 
the road, ye see.” 

Law’s a massy ! Dat am de best way to trabel. Miss 
Biddy. It’s jus like dis : when you is a totin’ it on de 
land, you know whar you am ; but when you is out on de 
big ocean, you am nowhars.” 

‘‘ Ha thin it’s thrue for ye, if ye have a black-pelt itself; 
the divil a lie in what ye said.” 

“ Yah ! Yah ! Dat am de truf, shua,” the negro chuck- 
ed at the appreciation of his sentiments. And Biddy 
continued : 

“Did you pass through the Parish o’ Mullingar on yer 
road. It’s there me mother’s people war from? ” 

“ I disremember de name ob de place, but peers to me 
I’ve bin dah. ” 

“ Oh, if ever ye wor there, it’s aisy enough knowin’ the 
place. There is party hawthorn hedges, an’ lovely green 
threes ; an’ maybe ye seen the little style, me uncle Patrick 
put in the gap, not a stones throw beyant the chapel. 

“ Why, Lawsee, dat am de place, shoa; lots o’ green 
trees, an’ a big high fence an’ a lubly water-melen patch. 
Day got a mighty pesky dog dar. I ’member dat. Miss 
Biddy. 

“ Wathur-milons in Ireland ? No, in throth, yer mimory 
is flusthrificated, me good man. I suppose the road was so 


102 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

long, that ye forgot how the Parish o’ Mullingar looked be 
the time ye r’ ached yer journey’s ind.” 

“ My memory is tolable ; but dat road war a mighty long 
road to trabble. It minded me ob de hard road to trabble 
ober Jordan, Miss Biddy.” 

“Oh, begor aye. I’m shure it was hard enough thrap- 
sin through the guthur an’ the ups an’ downs o’ the road. 
An’ how did ye crass the mountains?” 

“ Oh, we had a good wagon an’ a mighty good team o’ 
bosses ; we got along right smart.” 

“ Faix, thin ye did bethur nor we did. We wor a long 
time cornin’ ; an’ the ship was rowlin’ an’ tossin’ all the 
way over.” 

Biddy’s conversation was cut short by the ringing of 
the table bell. As she went to the dining room to remove 
the soup plates, Caesar Hawkins took a coal out of the 
kitchen stove to light his cob pipe with, and made his way 
out to the back porch to enjoy his smoke. 

This first interview, by the timely interference of Jerusha 
Ann, with the generally received notions of modern geog- 
raphy, had so far propitiated the cook, that Caesar Haw- 
kins was tolerated thereafter by the Hibernian domestic, 
whose antipathy to the negro had threatened an open rupture 
and a possible loss to Mrs. Weathersby of her valuable 
servant. 

Thanksgiving Day was near at hand, and there was a 
grand jollification — a supper and dancing party to be given 
by the members of the Lincoln Club, to their lady friends 
of sable hue. 

The party was to take place a few miles out on the 
county road, and Caesar Hawkins, who was a member of 
the club, asked leave of absence in the afternoon that he 
might call on his gal to give her a bid to “ de pawty.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


103 


Jerusha Ann had learned from Caesar Hawkins, dat Miss 
Lucinda Snow, his inamorata, was de lubliest yallagal dat 
eber left Ole Virgininy, ” and she propounded the question : 

‘‘ Say, Caesar, are you going to invite Lucinda to go 
with you? 

“ Yes, honey. Bless you Tse a gwine to do dat berry 
ting.” 

‘‘I saw Pompey Jarret going by the alley gate 3"ester- 
day. I wonder were he was coming from?” added Jerusha 
Ann. 

‘‘Klare to goodness. I’ll kill dat dah niggah, if I find him 
a monkeyin’ round Miss Lucinda Snow. I’ll mash his 
head against de wall.” 

‘•Don’t get so mad, Caesar. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. 
I’ll go over first and I’ll bring my pink sash to Lucinda, and 
say you sent it to her. I reckon ole Pompey wont get 
ahead of you then.” 

Promptly acting on the thought, Jerusha Ann crossed 
over the street and entered Mrs. Fitzdoodledom’s kitchen, 
where she beheld Miss Lucinda Snow engaged in pacing 
her masculatory devotions to the Great American Bird. 

You, fastidious epicures ! surfeited with the elaborate 
menu’s of fashionable hotel tables, could you but catch a 
glimpse of Miss Lucinda Snow, eating her Thanksgiving 
dinner, you might learn the regal luxury of a banquet, such 
as 3"ou never before enjoyed. 

The first cravings of appetite being appeased, Miss 
Lucinda Snow, with her head thrown back, was seated at 
the kitchen table balancing a fork, on which a huge piece 
of turkey", made well directed efforts to resist the desicating 
ivories that plied their task, with that peculiar crunch of 
satisfaction, which is heard only at a Thanksgiving dinner 
in the kitchen. 


104 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BDTHKEATION ; 

“ Say, Lucinda! Caesar sent you this to wear at the 
party to-night.” Jerusha Ann delivered her sash, to ‘‘ the 
lubliest gal dat eber left Ole Virgininy,” as she spoke. 

‘‘Golly! dat am de genuwine moire antick for shoa. 
Yah. Yah,” the masculatory performance came to an end, 
as Miss Lucinda Snow contemplated love’s offering. 

Jerusha Ann pinned it on, and assured her sable enter- 
tainer that it was too pretty for anything. 

“ Yah ! Yah ! Golly, dis niggah going to take de shine 
out ob dat Georgina Davis to-night at de pawty ! ” Miss 
Lucinda Snow indulged in a terpsichorean performance, 
keeping time to the measures of a tune which she chanted, 
and becoming enthusiatic at the possible conquests she 
would make of masculine hearts, she increased the tone of 
the orchestral melody, clapping her hands on her thighs and 
knees, as an accompaniment, as she danced “ Juba,” around 
the kitchen, until by a staccato emphasis of more than 
ordinary force, her elbows coming in contact with the dishes 
on the table, carried the war into China, and the rattling of 
broken dishes announced, in thundering tones, that hostilities 
had commenced in earnest. 

Jerusha Ann remembering the example of Marquis 
Tseng, concluded it was about time to retreat from the 
capital where China’s interests were about to involve serious 
complications, and she accordingly scampered home. 

While Lucinda contemplated the field of disaster, with 
sad misgivings that the black flags ominous inroads upon 
her month’s wages would show no quarter, she was aroused 
from her meditations by a well-knownf amiliar rap, on the 
kitchen door. 

“ Come in, Caesar ! ” The plaintive tones of invitation 
were in sad contrast with the late exhilarating peons of jo}^ 
that welled up from the inner depths of Lucinda’s being. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


105 


Caesar made his appearance attired as became an 
ardent lover, in “ de presence ob de lubliest gal dat eber left 
Ole Virginny.’’ 

In making his elaborate toilet, Caesar disdained the use 
of those highly perfumed soaps, so frequently denounced as 
destructive to the human skin ; the rind of a boiled ham, 
with the greasy side applied to his epedermis, served the 
purpose of a satisfactory cosmetic, imparting that cocoanut 
brilliancy to his complexion, so highly esteemed as irresis- 
tible in charming the hearts of the opposite sex. 

The crowning glory of all was the success achieved by 
this victim of Cupid’s darts in his labors on his chevalure. 
The difficulty of bringing the kinks on his cranium into 
subjection, was solved by the application of a hand-carding 
machine to his hair. The teased wool had a soft luxuriant 
appearance, rarely to be met with in the tonsorial hair-dress- 
ing of American citizens of African descent. 

Refulgent in a gleaming white shirt front, adorned with 
studs of colored glass, set in brass filagree, a suit of broad 
plaid and a gorgeous yellow necktie ; Caesar made his bow 
before his inamorata, as he made known the purpose of his 
visit. 

‘‘Miss Lucinda, will yo’ do me de indignity to favor 
me wid de injection ob yer company to de pawty to-night?” 

‘"Lawsee Mistah Hawkins, I’se too debilitated by de 
felickety ob yo* inwatation not to deliberate de rejection ob 
my company to yo* dis ebenin, moa specially as Tse entirely 
obliterated to yo’ fur de contumacion ob dat lubly sash 
what yo’ gubbed me !” Miss Lucinda Snow contemplated 
the gift with that demure look which betokens the extremes! 
depth of feminine gratitude. 

“Been a suflTerin’ de misery ob a smash-up I see. Miss 
Lucinda. Tings looks tolable disjinted, tell yo’ what. I’ll 


106 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

go down to cheap John’s an’ git yo’ a dish jist de match ob 
dis one. I reckon Miss Sally ’ill neber miss de udder tings 
no-how.” Caesar took the broken cover of a tureen with 
him and departed on his errand. 

This was a bold stroke of policy on the part of Caesar ; 
here was his opportunity to cement the growing favor of his 
Dulcinea, into a tender attachment ; and when he returned 
with the china tureen, exactly similar to the missipg article, 
with the exception of a few bulbs and blotches on its exterior, 
suggestive of escape from hospital experience, the glow of 
admiration beaming on the countenance of Miss Lucinda 
Snow, amply repaid him for the paltr}^ sum expended for 
the purchase of the missing article. 

“Yah, Yah. Dat am de berry same ; Miss Sally neber 
know de differ, Shoa.” 

Miss Lucinda Snow hastened to put out of sight the 
broken pieces of chinaware and washed her dishes, request- 
ing Mistah Hawkins to sit in de kitchen, to she dressed for 
de pawty. 

While awaiting his lady-love’s return Cmsar had the 
extreme pleasure of informing Pompey Jarret, who called to 
take Lucinda to the party: “That Miss Snow was a gwine 
wid de President ob de Lincoln Club, an’ he would not stand 
a show longside ob a good lookin niggah no-how, to whom 
Miss Lucinda Snow had promised de injection ob her com- 
pany. 

“Dat gal am de ficklest ob her sex. She dun’ gone an^ 
tole me to come fotch her to-night. Yo’ kin tell Lucindah 
Snow I ain’t a goin^ to be de dish-rag if I can’t be de 
table-cloth*.” 

“I’m a gwine to fotch Georgiana Davis'; she is a heap 
de pootiest gal in Mudville, dat am de fact, any-how!” 
exclaimed the discomfited swain as he beat a hasty retreat. 




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“ standing on his head in the mud, with dice and cards fall- 
ing from his pockets, CsBsar Hawkins realized the full force of 
Jerusha Ann’s temperance lecture.” 


[ 107 ] 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIBL. 


107 


Miss Lucinda Snow attired in a bright yellow tarleton 
dress and wearing the moire antique sash, soon after made 
her appearance. 

As Caesar with his inamorata on his arm turned the 
corner of the street, a juvenile voice accosted him : 

“Say, Caesar, do you mind if I go along?’’ 

“Lord bless de child, no; but say honey, won’t yo’ 
mudder be mad bout it.” 

“Paw said I could go, if you and Lucinda would let me 
go along,” answered Jerusha Ann, and she tripped along 
keeping in front of the lovers till they arrived at the house, 
where the grand ball was in progress ; though the god of 
day still poured his refulgent rays on the scene. 

Jerusha Ann paid particular attention to the candies 
and nuts, yet she could not but observe, that the green-eyed 
monster had taken possession of Caesar Hawkins, who vowed 
dire vengeance against Pompey Jarret who had made himself 
particularly conspicuous in his attention to Miss Lucinda 
Snow. Bracing himself with numerous potations, in order 
to gain the requisite nerve, Caesar Hawkins became so drunk 
he could not move a step, and some of his friends concluded 
the best thing to be done under the circumstances was to 
lift the inanimate form of the coachman, into a wagon and 
drive him home. 

As Jerusha Ann perceived the turn of events, she 
quietly pulled the bar out of place that held the tail-board in 
place. The wagon was driven at a quick pace, and when a gul- 
ley in the road filled with puddle was reached, a sudden lurch 
of the vehicle precipitated Caesar into it, head foremost. 
Standing on his head in the mud, with dice and cards falling 
from his pantaloons pockets, Caeser Hawkins realized the 
full force of Jerusha Ann’s Temperance lecture. 


108 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’s BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Jerusha Ann takes Part in a Discussion Concerning the 

Antediluvian Period, — Biddy Finnigan ‘^Argyjies 
Gonsarnin’ the Antiquity of the Rale Owld 
Irish Factions.^" 

“ Arrah, where did you git yer name, Jerushy ? asked 
Biddy Finnigan as she wiped the dinner dishes. 

Pitching another stone, aiming to hit the foam on the 
beer-glass painted on Dutch John’s sign, Jerusha Ann replied : 

Pa^ and maw hunted it up, I reckon.” 

“Musha! They didn’t scrape far up the wall whin 
they rached it thin.” 

“ Why, what’s the matter with my name. Ain’t it just 
as good as anybody else’s ? ” 

“ It sounds for all the wurld as if ye wor callin’ the 
pigs — Hiroosh — Hiroosh — ’ ’ 

“ You git out, Biddy ; I honestly believe you think all 
creation signifies something Irish.” 

“An’ why wouldn’t I? For the Irish is an owld, 
anshint people, an’ the history of ’em runs time out o’ mind 
since the year wan.” 

“ You goin’ to turn lecturer, Biddy? I guess you had 
better back up yer wagon onto some other point, if you don’t 
want to get stalled. * What do you know about history? ” 

“ Faix, ye’d betthur thry me, I moight know more nor 
ye think.”' 

Jerusha ceased her labors in the cause of temperance, 
and began catechising Biddy. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


109 


“Well, where were the Irish before the antediluvian 
period? ’’ 

“ Arrah, what soart o’ gibberish is that, scanty southin’ 
period ? Can’t ye quit talkin’ Frinch an’ ax me in plain 
English?” 

“ Well, where were the Irish before the flood ; I reckon 
no where.” 

‘ ‘ Begor, ye’re moighty mistaken ; they wor roastin’ 
their shins at their own hob, long before the flood. An’ why 
wouldn’t they ? ” 

Jerusha Ann laughed outright. 

“ Now, you dry up, Biddy ; in all your colsarned days 
you never did hear of any Irish folks livin’ then.” 

“ Didn’t I. Aye, in throth, an’ the thradition in the 
owld factions is handed down from gineration to gineration, 
an’ how the bys o’ wan faction ’id be thralin’ their coats 
uv a fair-day, darrin’ the bys o’ thother faction to flght.” 

“ I reckon the Muldoons weren’t in existence in those 
days, Biddy, nor the Brannigans, nor the illustrious Finnigans. 
Hain’t no statistics to* prove it, unless some enterprizing 
company of Philistines might have formed a stock company, 
and started on a whaling voyage round by the coast of Ire- 
land, and located a settlement under the homestead act. 
Hain’t got the statistics to prove it. ‘They moight, and 
then again they rnoightn’t,’ as the Henglishman says.” Je- 
rusha Ann vaulted on to the kitchen table, steadied the tin 
pie-plate in her lap, swung her legs, and began to devour a 
hemisphere of cherry pie, while listening to the reply of the 
female descendant of the first great Finnigan. 

Squatted on the potato barrel with her hands clasping 
her knees, the maiden from the Emerald Isle proceeded with 
her argument. 

“Wid all yer book-larnin, its there yer out, Jerushy 


110 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


I can prove it to ye, that the Brannigans is as owld as 
the hills, an’ kep their own pack o’ hounds, an’ schores o’ 
follyers, that used to be goin’ fox-huntin’ ; an’ its often I 
hear tell how wan o’ the Brannigan byes wint courtin’ a girl 
o’ the Callahan’s, an’ Mrs. Callahan was moight}^ stiff, an’ 
says she to him, says she : ‘ I wish,’ says she, ‘ that ye’d 

consoort,’ says she, ‘ wid yer own class,’ says she, ‘ an’ not 
be castin’ sheep’s eyes,’ says she, ‘ at my daughter,’ says 
she, 

“ An’ says he, back again to her, says he, ‘Mrs. Callahan, 
mam,’ says he, ‘I make bould to ax ye, mam,’ says he, ‘ what 
objection, mam,’ says he, ‘ have ye,’ says he, ‘ to my courtin’ 
yer daughtur, mam,’ says he. 

“An’ thin agin says she to him, says she, ‘Misthur 
Braunigan,’ says she, ‘ my daughthur,’ says she, ‘ is cum ova 
good sthock,’ says she, ‘ an’ dates from an anshint line,’ says 
she, ‘ an’ I don’t loike,’ says she, ‘ to have,’ says she, ‘my 
daughthur,’ says she, ‘ spakin’,’ says she, ‘ to every whipper- 
snapper upsthart,’ says she. 

“ ‘Botheration,’ says he to her, ‘ Mrs. Callahan, mam,’ 
says he, ‘I’d ax ye, mam,’ says he, ‘what roight,’ says he, 
‘ has the Callahans,’ saj^s he, ‘ to sthick up their noses,’ says 
he, ‘ at the Brannigans,’ says he. 

“ Shakin’ her shouldhurs, an’ cockin’ up her nose at 
him, ‘Misthur Brannigan,’ says she, ‘ my daughthur, says 
she, ‘ is cum of a rale owld sthock,’ says she, ‘ for her owld, 
anshint ancestor,’ says she, ‘ was in the Ark wid Noah,’ says 
she, ‘ in the time o’ the flood,’ says she. 

“ ‘Ha ! Thin, Mrs. Callahan,’ says he, ‘I’d have ye to 
know, mam,’ says he, ‘that the Brannigans worn’ t behowlden 
to Noah in the time o’ the flood, for they kum over in a boat 
o’ their own.’ 

“ An’ now. Miss Jerushy, don’t ye see that the Irish is 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, • 


111 


av anshinter people nor what ye thought, an’ they wor a 
gra^iie people for sportin’ ; for in regard to the Finnigans, 
they used to keep schores o’ horses an’ hounds in their day. 
An’ I’ll tell ye what happened to me aunt Biddy : Me fathur’s 
sisthur, ‘God rest her soul,’ she’s dead goin’ on twinty year, 
this Michaelmas day. Well, as I was tellin’ ye, whin she 
first cum to Amerikay, it was to the town o’ New York she 
cum. An’ wan day, shortly afthur landing, she was sthrelin’ 
along through City Hall Park, an’ as she clapped her two 
eyes on the City Hall, the sight ov it looked so familiar, 
an’ her heart was dawnshy an’ wake, that it overcome her 
intirely, an’ she sot down on wan o’ the binches, an’ roared 
an’ cried her belly full. By an’ by a jintleman passin’ by, 
sthopped an’ axed her : 

“ ‘What seems to be the trouble, madam, you seem to 
be in afldiction ? ’ 

“ ‘Musha, I am, God help me ; I’m not long out, sir, an’ 
whin I looked at that buildin’ beyant, it reminded me so o’ 
me father’s stables that I cried wid grief,’ says she.” 

“That will do, Biddy, here is the empty pie-plate; 
that’s the bell for school.” 

Swinging her satchel of books over her shoulder, Je- 
rusha Ann hurried out of the back gate. 


112 


BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

JerusJia Ann Interviews Hans Kippellieimer , — A Race 
for the Sausages, — ^^Sp — Sp — Sp — SprecJien Sie 
DeutschP' — ^^Spitzboof Boliss! BolissI* 

— Yankee Doodle Wins, 

“Say, mister, how much is that hunk of sausages 
worth?” asked Jerusha Ann of Hans Kippelheimer, the 
Dutch butcher. 

“Das is by de pound mit de Preis ; es ist zu viele for 
verkaufen de grosse.” 

“Say, can’t you talk United States, old fellow? I ain’t 
Dutch.” 

The butcher, a little provoked by the remark, answered 
testily : 

“Veil, I tells you it is too much for you to buy.” 

“How do 3"ou know it is too much? I reckon you keep 
a butcher shop to sell your spare-ribs, sausage an’ sich. 
Don’t ye?” Jerusha Ann took a tape-line out of her pocket 
and began measuring the links of sausages. 

Hans Kippelheimer waited upon a group of customers, 
selling them head-cheese, spare-ribs, and garden truck, 
while Jerusha Ann continued measuring the pile of sausage 
links. 

Hans had a hasty temper, and when excited stuttered. 
He was annoyed by the persistent measuring of his sausage 
links by the strange customer, and blurted forth : 

“Va — va — va — vat 3^ou measure mine sausage for?” 

‘‘T — I — I — I — I want to see if its long enough,” mim- 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIBL. 113 

icking the man’s stammer, Jerusha Ann continued her 
labors. 

*«Th — th — th — th the long it is ; makes nuttings, vi — 
vi — vi — vi vill you get v — v — v vat you vants, und go by 
mit your bizness?” 

“Th — th — th — the length of it is my business* 
Th — th — th — that’s why I came here for it.” 

“Sp — sp — sp — sp — sp — sprechen Sie Deutsch?” 

“N — n — n — n — n — n — no.” 

“F — f — f — f — f — f — for vas you vant de sausage long?** 

“B — b — b — b — b — b — b — b — because the ladies of the 
United Presbyterian Church strawberry festival committee 
sent me to buy it, if it is six yards long.” 

“S — s — s — s — s — s — s — six yards long it is und more 
als dat,” 

“I — I — — I — I don’t believe it is.” 

“D — d — d — d — d du bis ein sassy young gal. V — v — ^v 
vy de ladies not cumed?” 

“Oh, they hadn’t time. They gave me the money to 
pay for it, if it’s long enough. It must be over six yards 
long at least. They want to festoon it across the ceiling of 
the New England kitchen for the strawberry festival to- 
night. They told me to pay twenty-five cents a pound for 
the sausage, if I could get it all in one long string,** Je- 
rusha felt of the links to see if they were strong. 

The prospect of selling his sausage at eight cents a 
pound above market price, acted on the Dutchman’s temper 
like oil poured on troubled waters. He brushed the dust off 
a chair and oflered Jerusha a seat, while he proceeded to 
measure the coil of sausage. 

Unfolding coil after coil until the last link came in view, 
Hans Kippelheimer began to measure the sausage. 

Jerusha watched him for some time in silence, after a 


114 


BIDDY FINNIGAN's BOTHERATION; 


few 3"ards had been measured, she drew her chair near the 
counter and objected : 

“You counted that last wrong.’’ 

“Veil, I doos him over, eins, zwei, drei, — 

Before he measured the next yard, Jerusha Ann caught 
a good grip of the other end of the long link, and calling to 
the pork merchant : 

“Say, you hold on to t’other end. I’ll see if its long 
enough. No need to fuss over measuring it. If it reaches 
out on the street, I reckon it will do.” She continued, 
lengthening out the long coil, which reached way out beyond 
the sidewalk. Hans Kippelheimer, with the other end of 
the link in his hand, bracing his back against the rear wall 
of his shop, chuckled with satisfaction as he beheld the long 
stretch of sausage. 

No sooner had Jerusha Ann attained the curbstone, 
than she shouted to the horrified Dutchman : 

“I say, Hans, you or I for it ; whoever holds on longest 
wins the bologny.” 

Taking to her heels, Jerusha Ann ran down the street, 
the Dutchman following with the other end of the link. On, 
on, they sped, over drygoods boxes, wooden-ware, brooms, 
buckets, tin-pans, to^^s, ginger-bread, candies, and the vari- 
ous articles displayed on the sidewalk opposite the store- win- 
dows; up Jefferson street, down Eighth, across Main, knocking 
a basket of Pretzels off a peddler’s back, and scattering the 
contents. The Dutchman ^^elling at the top of his voice : 

“Oh, mine sausage ! Auch, vos a peebles ! S thill him ! 
Sthill him! Vatch! Vatch! You sthille, you spitzboo ! 
Boliss I Boliss ! ” 

A policeman crossing the street for the purpose of 
making an arrest was prevented by the bystanders, who 
stood laughing at the comical race. 


“No sooner had Jerusha Ann attained the curbstone than she shouted to the homfied 
Dutchman, ‘ I sa^y, Hans, you or I for it I ’ ” 

[ 114 ] 


V 






OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


115 


Jerusha Ann, still in the lead, kept the length of 
sausage taut as a clothes-line after a shower, and explained 
to the lookers-on : 

“Its a wager ; whoever holds on longest, wins the race. 
Hurrah for Yankee Doodle !” 

Hans Kippelheimer, panting for breath, was forced to 
let go his end from sheer exhaustion. 

One shout of exultation burst from the crowd of spec- 
tators, as Jerusha Ann pulled in the sausage, and coiling it 
around her arm she tooted the national song : 

Yankee Doodle came to town, 

A huntin’ for bologny, 

And sauer-kraut Hang a holdin’ on, 

Was beat by a Yankee pony. 



i 


116 


BIDDY FIKNiaAN’S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Biddy Finnigan^s Opinion of American Aristocracy » — 

“ Cook Accnshla^ Squeeze a Bit uv Fat Through the 
Kayhole to us,^^ — ‘‘Mrs. Weathersby^ Dar- 
ling Fve Cotched the Great Grand- 
father o’ the Bed-bugs ! ” 

“Mrs. Weathersbt, I wish ye’d come here, mam, an’ 
see Jerushy’s nick ; its all broke out wid some soortof apok.” 

Biddy Finnigan twisted Jerusha’s head, as she in- 
spected more closely several red blotches that encircled her 
neck. 

Mrs. Weathersby examined the marks. “Oh, its 
nothing but bug bites. We must look to the beds again, 
Biddy ; this warm weather brings them out.” 

“Bugs ! What’s thim, mam? I never hear tell o’ thim.” 

“Why, did you never see bed-bugs, Biddj^?” 

“Is it thim flyin’ things wid the hard backs, mam*?” 

“No, the}^ are not so big as those.” 

“Maybe its them dawnshee little stingin’ things that 
does be blistherin’ a body these hot nights.” 

“I reckon 3^ou mean mosquitos.” 

‘ ‘Maybe so ; I thought they wor fairies’ midgets, for 
they stings loike a wasp, an’ the^" don’t be bigger nor a flay.” 

“Those are mosquitoes, Bidd}\ Come with me and 
bring your scrubbing-bucket along, I will show 30U what 
bed-bugs are.” 

Mrs. Weathersby inspected the beds, and had the bed 


117 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 

stead thoroughly cleaned. When her Hibernian domestic 
beheld the sheets, she gave expression to her astonishment ; 

“Oh, the murdhurin’ vampires, to think that a brute 
no bigger nor a grain o’ barley, ’id suck the blood uv a body, 
like a landlord’s agint in the owld sod.” 

“Landlords’ agints must be pretty hard cases, 1 reckon, 
Biddy. Here, tip this feather to that slat at your end.” 

“An’ what good does the feather be, mam? ” 

“You see, I dip it in this corrosive sublimate ; it is a 
deadly poison. You must be careful not to get it near a cut 
on your hands. It would kill you, just as it kills the bed- 
bugs.” 

“Oh, holy Moses ! I’m all in a thrimble at thoughts 
uv it ; an’ me away from me people to die all uv a suddlnt 
wid no wan to sphake to. Musha, God help us, its a lonely 
thought.” 

Holding the feather at arm’s length, Biddy applied 
the poison with ver}^ great care. 

“I suppose, mam, that they gev this pisen the name uv 
snorring supplemint bekase uv its killin’ the bugs, an’ lavin’ 
the people to take a snore in comfort afthur it.” 

Mrs. Weathersby laughed and agreed in the deduc- 
tion, while she carefully replaced the feather in the bottle of 
corrosive sublimate. 

“Mrs. Weathersby, mam, is bed-bugs Americans, 
mam?” 

“Why, Biddy, what makes you ask such a question?” 

“Bekase I was wondhurin’ why they calls the quality 
here ‘big bugs,’ an’ I was siqiposin’ it moight be bekase 
some uv ’em was loike the landlords’ agints at home, in owld 
Ireland ; an’ its how I was thinkin’ they grew to be big bugs 
by suckin’ the blood out uv the laborin’ people, mebbe.” 

“Oh, you mustn’t think that. Mr. Weathersby is getting 


118 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


to be a big bug, and I guess he don’t scoop out no hands, 
nor cheat no laborer, neither.” 

‘‘Divil a fairer man walks the sthreets than himself, 
God bless him. It wasn’t him I was thinkin’ uv at all, at 
all, but big bugs that doesn’t live a mile beyant where we’re 
livin’.” 

“Oh, I know who you mean. 1 can’t say as they ever 
did it, either, though they do put on a heap of style. We’ll 
finish up in my room, now, Biddy.” 

The crevises were thoroughly smeared with corrosive 
sublimate, and the house put in good order by a second 
house-cleaning, ere Mrs. Weathersby let Biddy resume her 
accustomed duties. 

Happening to go into the kitchen to give some direc- 
tions concerning dinner, later on in the day, the lady of the 
household was displeased to see such a crowd of beggars 
and tramps in the back-yard waiting their allowance of cold 
victuals. 

Mrs. Weathersby, like many ladies of her class, had 
become suspicious of the integrity of the poor, in exact 
ratio as her own good fortune raised her above the biting 
claims of adversity. Although she had given her servant in- 
structions to dole out the cold victuals to the poor, when 
she first came to live with her, she now began to repent of 
her charity, and declaring the applicants for relief to be a 
pack of thieves and good-for-nothing tramps, ordered them 
out and locked the kitchen door, taking the key out to make 
sure the kind-hearted Biddy should not minister to their wants. 

But among the beggars there were some natives of Hi- 
bernia’s Isle, whose quick-witted intelligence devised ex- 
pedients to meet the case. Irish Kitty, making a telescope 
of her hands outside the key-hole, shouted through this im- 
provised speaking-trumpet : 




OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


119 


“Arrah, cook accushla, will ye squeeze a bit uv fat 
through the kay-hole to us?’’ 

Mrs. Weathersby relented, and allowed Biddy to dis- 
pense the usual charity. 

When Jerusha Ann returned from school, Biddy gave 
her a graphic account of the terrible bug hunting that had 
been conducted during the day, and the vampires they had 
killed. 

That night, Jerusha Ann retired to rest, but she brought 
a close-covered basket into her room before retiring. 

When the midnight hour sounded from the church- 
steeple, Jerusha arose and taking from h^ covered basket 
a snapping-turtle, she quietly slipped it into Biddy’s room. 

Soon after, Biddy Finnigan’s vigorous thumps on her 
pa’s bed' room door were answered by Sam Weathersby and 
his wife rushing into the hall-way, in their night-clothes. 

“Mrs. Weathersby, darlin’, I have him. I cotched him 
afthur a hard fight, mam. Look, will yez, I cotched the 
great grandfathur o’ the bed-bugs, mam !” Shaking the snap- 
ping-turtle out of the towel, Biddy contemplated it with 
feelings akin to those experienced by a valiant general who 
has conquered his enemy, on a well-fought field. 


120 


BIDDY FIKNIGAN’S BOTHEEATIONj 


CHAPTER XX. 

Internal Revenue Collectors have a Case in Court. — The 
Prosecuting Attorney Drawing Testimony for the Gov- 
ernment. — Mickey Houghlahan^s Evidence. — Sam 
Weathersby Treats the Crowd. 

He was a stout, able-bodied man, attired in a suit of 
courderoy breeches, a gray frieze jacket, and a battered felt 
hat, who wended his way leisurely in the direction of Samuel 
Weathersby’s store. Taking the dudheen out of his mouth, 
and clapping his forefinger and thumb on the bowl of the 
smoking hot pipe, he accosted the proprietor : 

“I say, sur, does wan Samuel Weathersby live con- 
vanyint to these parts ? ” 

“I am Sam Weathersby, what do you want?” 

“Misthur Brown sint me to tell ye the thrial begins at 
tin o’clock, sur.” 

“Wait a minute. I’ll put on my hat and be with you 
directly. I had forgotten all about it.” Sam Weathersby 
locked his desk, and accompanied the messenger to the 
Court-House. 

The case was one of unusual interest. Walter John- 
son, the proprietor of a popular saloon, was charged with 
selling liquor upon which the legal duties, imposed by 
the government, had not been paid.. 

Able counsel had been secured on both sides and 
many witnesses summoned. 

Samuel Weathersby had been charged with selling the 
barrels of whiskey to the defendant, and though the United 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. J21 

States detectives had made a thorough examination of his 
stock, and failed to discover any unstamped barrels in his 
possession, yet, as the same brand of whiskey was only 
found in his warehouse, there was a strong suspicion that he 
sold the liquor to the retail dealer. 

The case was called. The government agent testified 
to finding whiskey barrels unstamped in Johnson’s saloon, 
and all that remained to be proven was the actual sale of 
the liquor that had been in the barrels. This, the prosecut- 
ing attorney hoped to establish by the testimony of the son 
of Hibernia’s Isle, who had notified Mr. Weathersby of the 
commencement of the trial. 

But the prosecuting attorney reckoned without his host. 
The Irishman’s sympathies were all on the side of the saloon- 
keeper, and though he would not tell a deliberate falsehood 
while under oath, yet he would resort to all manner of excuses 
and delays to evade a direct reply. 

After a number of witnesses had given their testimony, 
the crier of the court called : 

“ Michael Houghlahan are you present?” 

‘‘I am an’ I amn’t, agrah,” the deep, rich brogue and 
quaint reply caused a titter through the court. 

The judge brought down his gavel and commanded : 

“Silence in Court! Witnesses must answer questions 
without equivocation or they will be fined for contempt.” 

The individual in the frieze jacket and courderoy 
breeches, remained standing in the open door-way, not a 
particle intimidated by the threat. 

“ Michael Houghlahan are you in court?” asked the 
crier again. 

“ I am an’ I amn’t. Tmbetuxt and betune like the lane 
an’ fat in belly bacon,” replied the Irishman in a nonchalent 
manner. 


122 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION 5 

An audible grin greeted this answer. 

The judge, a dignified gentleman with a bald head, 
became angry at this affrontery and said : 

‘‘Michael Houghlahan, pay attention, sir. I warn you 
that if you persist in your present conduct, you shall be 
fined according to the full extent of the law. Witnesses 
must answer questions directly.’^ The judge resumed his 
seat. 

Without moving a muscle the Irishman asked the 
judge : 

“ Wor ye spakin to me, sur?” 

“ Yes, to you.” 

“ An’ moight I make bowld to ax ye, sur, what’s the 
fine for thim as isn’t witnesses.” 

The judge perceived the point that the man, not having 
been sworn, was not a witness, and turning to the clerk 
commanded him to swear the witness. 

“ Michael Houghlahan take the witness-stand !” ordered 
the clerk. 

Sauntering leisurely to the seat indicated, the man was 
sworn and the prosecuting attorney began to cross-question 
the witness : 

“What is your name?” 

“Michael Houghlahan.” 

“Where were you born?” 

“In the Parish uv Enniskillen, sur, in owld Ireland.” 

“Are you of lawful age?” 

“No, sur. I’m beyant it.” 

“Do you know Walter Johnson?” 

“I do, sur.” 

“Do 3"ou know what business he follows?” 

“Yis, sur.” 

There was a pause ; no further information being volun- 


123 


OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 

teered. The prosecuting attorney raised his eyebrows and 
and said : 

“Well?” 

“Well?’’ answered the witness. 

“Why don’t you tell the court what business Walter 
Johnson follows?” said the attorney, 

“Bekase I wasn’t axed to tell it, sur.” 

^ “Well, I’ll put the question in another form. Does 
Walter Johnson keep a saloon?” 

“As I’m on my oath, I can say that Walter Johnson 
keeps his sate, sur,” gazing at the defendant as he 
spoke. 

“Did Walter Johnson keep a saloon?” quered the 
Attorney, seeing he had a sharp witness to deal with. 

“He did, sur.” 

“Were you ever in his saloon?” 

“I was.” 

“Did you ever drink whiskey in Walter Johnson’s 
saloon ?” 

“An’ shure it wouldn’t be a dhrop o’ fresh buttermilk 
ye’d get in a saloon, sur.” 

“That is not an answer to my question.” 

“Faix it’s a ra3^sonable answer.” 

The prosecuting attorney pondered for a moment : this 
man was in the saloon at the time the government agent 
made the seizure of the unstamped whiske}" barrels. If he 
could get him to admit having drank the whiskey from one 
of them, then he could gain the case. Calling the agent, he 
said to the witness : 

“Did you see this gentleman in Walter Johnson’s 
saloon, and what happened when he was there? Tell the 
court in your own way, without omitting any thing that 
occurred.” 


124 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


“I seen him foostherin wid the barrels, sur ; but if I was 
to tell ye what happened maybe ye wouldn’t loike it !” 

‘‘Did you see this gentleman take the barrels out of 
Johnson’s saloon? What happened then?” 

“Well, ye see, sur, to make a long story short, I was 
stanin’ by the bar, so I was, whin a little foxy-headed man, 
wid a squint in wan eye, kem in, an’ says he to Misthur 
Johnson, says he ; ‘Is Timmy Owens here ?’ 

“ ‘No, I don’t know any Timmy Owens,’ says he back 
again. 

“An so a few minutes afthur, in walks the same man, 
an’ says he : ‘Is Timmy Owens here yet? ’ 

“ ‘No. Ain’t no Timmy Owens here that I know of,’ 
says Misthur Johnson soort o’ stiff like. 

“Faix, it wasn’t long afore the same little man wid the 
the carroty pole kem back, an’ makin’ bowld, he stalks up to 
the bar, an’ says he : ‘Is Timmy Owens here now, sir? ’ 

“ ‘Darn Timmy Owens, what do I know about him,’ 
answers Misthur Johnson. 

“ ‘Arrah, ye must know him, shure everybody knows 
Timmy Ow^ns,’ says the little fox3"-headed man, helpin’ 
himself to a good glass-ful o’ whiskey, an dhrinkin it 
down at wan guUup. 

“ ‘Didn’t I tell you a dozen times that I don’t know any 
such dead-beat galoot as Timmy Owens,’ says Misthur 
Johnson, an’ he was losin’ his timper by this time. 

“‘Musha, 3’ermimory is failin’ ye thin so, fur its 3’ou 
that knows Timmy Owens, as well as an}" man livin’ ; an’ 
why wouldn’t you ; for who that wance clapped two eyes on 
him ’id ever forget Timmy Owens to their dyin’ day,’ says 
the foxy little man. 

“Ripping out an oath, savin’ yer prisence, Misthur 
Johnson swore he never saw Timm}" Owens in his life. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


125 


“ ‘Nabochlish ! ’ says the man wid the carroty pole. 
‘ ril prove it to you, that ye know him well an’ so do these 
jintlemin stanin here. Ye see Timmy Owens is a tailor by 
thrade an’ b}^ rayson of his sittin so constant, he is thrifle 
bandy legged, an’ whin he runs he goes this way an’ that 
way! hoppin on wan fut, an’ thin on thother: while his 
legs has a bind in ’em like a dog scrapin’ a pot, this way.’ 

‘‘Wid that the little man raced out o’ the saloon bandy 
legged, an’ shure it id make a cat laugh to see him waddlin 
on the run, but more betoken he got off widout payin’ fur his 
whiskey, sur.” 

Annoyed at the dodging witness, the attorney pointing 
to the empty barrel asked : 

“Did you drink the contents of this barrel?” 

“ I don’t know, sur.” 

“Did you drink any of the illegal whiskey.” 

“Begor, I wouldn’t know the taste of illaygal whiskey 
from any other soart, sur.” 

Determined to bring him to a decided admission, the 
Prosecuting Attorney asked : 

“Now, Michael Houghlahan, remember if you answer 
falsely you can be prosecuted for perjury, for violating your 
oath. Did you drink what was in this barrel?” 

Regarding the barrel with a puzzled look the witness 
observed : “I’d like to know vrhat was in that barrel.” 

“Don’t you see it is whiskey?” The prosecuting at- 
torney pointed to the brand. 

Turning the barrel leisurly round and upturning the op- 
posite end upon which was stamped the name of the distiller, 
Pat Malloy, the witness scratched his head while a smile 
spread over his face, gazing at the prosecuting attorney 
and with a grave expression of countenance, he replied : 

“I loike to be particular in the matthur o’ tellin’ the 


126 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

thruth for fear o’ committin’ parjury, sur, an’ as Fm on my 
oath this day, I couldn’t swear whether it was whiskey or 
Pat Malloy was in this barrel, sur.” 

One roar of laughter shook the court, even the judge 
joining in. 

The internal revenue agents failed to prove their case, 
and Sam Weathersby treated the crowd after adjournment. 




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Thick and fast they came, thick and fast they went ; chasing cats, or the cat hunt. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


121 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Wanted Five Hundred Cats. — His Imperial Highness^ Me- 
hemet Hajid^ Khedive of Egypt ^ through his Agent., Ma- 

hamoud Al Baschin., Offers a Liberal Price for cats- 
that stand the Required Tests. — The Citizens of 
Mudville treated to Thomases Orches- 
tral Seranades. 

“Wanted five hundred cats for a foreign mission. Per-^ 
sons having cats to dispose of, will find a purchaser, at No. 
109 Franklin Square. The cats must be strong, healthy and 
capable of standing a long sea voyage, as they are to be 
forwarded to his Imperial Highness, Mehemet Hafid, 
Khedive of Egypt. The agent of His Imperial Highness, 
Mahamoud Al Baschin, has opened an office at 109 Franklin 
Square, where he will examine all cats offered for sale, and 
will pay at the rate of three, four and five dollars apiece, for 
such animals as shall stand the test of the Khedive’s re- 
quirements.” 

This advertisement, published in the morning papers, 
caused a great commotion in the entire country, and 
awakened in the bosom of many a rustic maiden, visions of 
plethoric pocket-books, and stimulated the irrepressible bad 
boy to engage in this new branch of industry. 

Jack Carson and Jerusha Ann Weathersby were seated 
in the large office room at No. 109 Franklin Square ; although 
the weather was exceedingly warm, a bright fire was burning 
in the grate, and a poker, heated to a red heat, protruded 
from the grate-bars. 


128 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

A red velvet fez, adorned with gold braid and tassels, 
encased the raven locks of Jack Carson ; a blue, loose jacket, 
with gold braiding ; a pair of loose blue silk pantaloons, and 
shoes of yellow kid turned up at the toes, completed his 
toilet; burnt cork plentifully applied, and a long black 
■beard, attached by a wire spring to his chin, had completely 
tmetamorphized the blacksmith’s boy into the noble 
Mahamoud A1 Baschih. 

Reclining on a low ottoman, attired in gorgeous robes 
of blue silk, embroidered in silver filagree patterns, with 
numerous chains of sequins dangling about her person, her 
nose ebon black, and lustrous eyes peering forth from the 
folds of her white yashmak, Avidya, the Egyptian maid, 
drumming her zithar, could never have been recognized as 
bearing any resemblance to Jerusha Ann Weathersby, w^ere 
it not for her unmistakable voice as she shouted to the noble 
Mahamoud A1 Baschin. 

“I say. Jack, here they come; golly, what a crowd.” 

And now the negro attendant, attired in the costume of 
a fellaheen, with turbaned head, bowed three times before 
making known his message. 

‘‘Noble Mahamoud A1 Baschin, the crowd is so great, 
that the Grand Vizier of the roadw^ay, whom the people call 
policeman, requests that the sidewalk be cleared,” 

Putting her Egyptian fan to her face to hide her grinning, 
Avidya gazed on the throng of men, women and children, 
who stood jostling each other on the sidewalk, bearing over 
their shoulders, potato-sacks, flour-bags and satchels, that 
rotated in a very singular manner ; while baskets of every 
conceivable shape emitted sounds of an extraordinary 
character. 

Mahamoud A1 Baschin gave orders : “Admit but one 
at a time.” 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIBL. 


129 


Bowing three times, Zapalliim, the attendant, withdrew 
and ushered in a country woman carrying a potato-sack 
in her arms. 

“Have you a cat to sell, madam?” inquired the noble 
Mahamoud A1 Baschin, stroking his beard. 

“Yes, sir; an’ if I do say it, there ain’t a finer cat 
in Washington County than our Tom.” 

“If the cat stands the fire test, madam, I am authorized 
by His Royal Highness, Mehemet Hafid, to pay you five dol- 
lars for him ; place the cat on this table, until we try him.” 

A large gray cat was brought forth from the bag, 
and stroked by its mistress into a placid humor. 

Mahamoud A1 Baschin seized the red-hot poker, 
and brandished it before the animal. 

With one spring the cat jumped through the open win- 
dow into the market opposite. 

“Splendid ! Catch him, madam, I will give you five 
dollars for that cat ! ” exclaimed Mahamoud A1 Baschin. 

The woman ran out of the office, across the crowded 
thoroughfare, into the meat-market, in pursuit of her cat. 

Number two was admitted, bearing a flour-sack, which 
he unceremoniously emptied of its contents. 

“I say, boss, I dun gone an’ brought 30U de best cat in 
de States. What you agwine to give for her?” 

“According to her merits. Five dollars if she stands 
the fire-test ; four if she undergoes the water-test, and three 
for the noise-test. Under which grade do you enter your 
cat?” Mahamoud took a dipper of water out of the water- 
bucket, as he paused for a reply. 

“1 reckon she kin fotch de fust prize, massa. I 
enters fo de five- dollar stakes.” 

Scratching his woolly head, Sambo awaited the trial. 

The hot poker had scarcely left the bars ere the white 


130 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


tabby took affright, and bolted out of the window, scamper- 
ing through the vegetable stands and knocking down the 
pint 'measures of small fruits in her flight. 

‘‘I’ll give you five dollars for that cat. Catch her.” Ma- 
hamoud had no sooner uttered this decision than the negro 
proprietor vaulted through the open window, and made a 
bee-line for his cat. 

And now came a mongrel white and gray cat, a young 
country maiden brought forth from a closed basket. 

Avidya left her seat on the ottoman, and began strok- 
ing pussy’s sleek fur. 

^^Sakya kama dhiyo yo na wanda siddartha grimalkin'* ^ 
she said, gazing at the Khedive’s agent. 

The noble Princess Avidya, says: “In all the world 
there is not a more beautiful cat,” interpreted Mahamoud 
A1 Baschin. 

•The maiden smiled, and the Princess tapping her on 
the shoulder with the fan, said : 

“JV'^ yava tirthi hakmeesh.'* 

“She says no other cat can draw the price,” translated 
Mahamoud A1 Baschin. “I will put the water- test to 
trial.” Taking a dipper of water he dashed it over the pur- 
ring pussy, with the same result as attended his former ex- 
periments, and offered the highest price for the puss. The 
bashful maiden went forth and hired a few little street-gamins 
to catch her cat, and they joined in the cat-hunt. 

A boy of twelve years of age, keen-eyed, lithe and 
wide-awake, brought forth a black cat from his fiour-sack. 

“Captain, what stakes do you put up on this ere feline? 
I can give you her pedigree : she is a lineal descendant of 
‘ Rip Snorter,’ the greatest musician of the feline persuasion 
that ever made night melodious with song.” 

“If she stands the required tests, I am willing to pay 


OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


131 


the highest price for her, at either the noise, water or fire- 
tests. If she shows strong, muscular action in leaping, she 
will be able to stand the climate of Egypt. The highest 
price of five dollars is only awarded to cats who stand the 
severest, the fire-test.’’ Recognizing the urchin as one of the 
irrepressible newsboys, Mahamoud A1 Baschin turned his 
head towards the fire-place, lest the keen vision of the boy 
should penetrate his disguise. 

‘‘Call out yer fire department, captain, I reckon Sarab 
Bernhardt can stand it.” . 

The test was applied, and the boy lit out after his cat, 
dashing over hucksters, garden-truck customers and 
policemen in his eager haste to capture his cat. 

Thick and fast they came, thick and fast they went ; 
chasing cats to the four points of the compass, north, south, 
east and west ; a motley crowd of all ages and races, Negroes, 
Dutch, Irish, Americans, tumbling over vegetable wagons, 
into drygoods stores, drug stores, and crockery- ware estab- 
lishments, pell-mell, smashing crockery and upsetting soda- 
water glasses. Now the hunted feline would spring on to a 
young lady’s shoulder, then on her open parasol, and seek 
refuge in an open window. Three or four claimants pursu- 
ing one cat, all thoroughly persuaded that the other in- 
dividuals were mistaken as to the identity of their house- 
hold pet. Umbrellas, walking-canes, and every conceivable 
article that could be transformed into a weapon of attack, 
seized by the excited cat-venders, regardless of the laws of 
meum and teum, as they sped onward after the fleet-footed 
grimalkins. 

The Princess Avidya and the noble Mahamoud A1 
Baschin, with head and shoulders poked out of the window, 
contemplated the scene with mixed emotions. Egypt’s 
stoic composure for once was at a discount. 


132 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

Of the hundred and fifty cats subjected to the three 
tests, springing a rattle in their ear suddenl}", immersion, 
and the red-hot poker brandishing, but one reported for 
dut3^ The irrepressible newsboy had captured the 
country"- woman’s gray Tom. 

The Khedive’s agent declared Tom to be a cat of the 
third grade, and paid his captor three dollars for him. 

As the shades of evening fell, a close carriage drew 
up at 109 Franklin Square. The Princess Avidya and the 
noble Mahamoud A1 Baschin entered it and were driven to 
the blacksmith’s residence. Jack Carson’s mother assisted 
the Egyptian Princess to remove the burnt cork from her 
skin, and to don the garments of civilized life. No en- 
treaties could persuade the noble Princess Avidya to re- 
main to tea, she sped home as fast as she could. 

When Sam Weathersby related the wonderful cat-hunt 
that caused the suspension of business during the day, in 
the cit}^ Jerusha Ann made more minute inquiries con- 
cerning the singular afllair than her mother, and was more 
astonished than an}- one at the tea-table to hear of the many 
ludicrous incidents connected therewith. 

That night few of the citizens of Mudville were able 
to get a wink of sleep. Sam Weathersby had just dozed 
off into a peaceful slumber, when he was awakened by the 
prelude to a grand Thomas orchestra. 

Ma-ri-ar ! Ma-ri-ar % 

Come over in our ^^ard ! 

There’s goin to be a row ! 

There’s goin to be a row! 

Meow, meow-ow, meow-ow ! 

Sth — sth 

Bang went the boot-jack at the leader of the concert, 
which brought a temporary" suspension of the performance. 


OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


133 


Just as the downy wings of sleep were folded o’er 
the brow of Sam Weathersby, another: 

“Mariar ! Mariar. Meow ow-a-eow ! Mariar ! ” 
Stealthily the door was opened and Sam Weathersby 
appeared on the back porch in his night-shirt carrying a 
pitcher^of water, which he dashed on the nocturnal musicians. 
A defiant old yellow Thomas continuing his invitation to 
Mariar ; the pitcher dealt a blow to, and the basin was hurled 
after Mariar. Mr. Weathersby at that moment beheld every 
man in the neighborhood similarly occupied. 


134 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Jerusha Ann Joins the Church Choir, — Goodness Ghracious 

de Pugs are so Pad auf dem VindowP — Professor 
Hoffmeister ^'•Sthops de Rehearsal.^* 

Jerusha Ann joined the church choir ; she was growing 
up to that interesting age, when the amusements of childhood 
^ were no longer able to satisfy the craving of her nature. 

Not only were the Weathersby’s advancing in the social 
scale, but Deacon Smithers* prospects had continued to 
improve ever since the day he had taken to himself the 
widow Sikes as a helpmate. All the modern luxuries had 
been added to his church, a new church organ had been 
purchased and a German music-teacher engaged as organist 
and choir instructor. 

Professor Hoffmeister was a large, broad-shouldered man, 
endowed by nature with a keen appreciation of harmony and 
a flaxen moustache. 

His mouth was made on the principle of the “ Mammoth 
Cave of Kentucky,” and when his jaws opened, wide inter- 
minable labrynths were unfolded to view. 

Professor Hoffmeister’ s admiration for the great German 
composers was only equaled by his detestation of English 
authors and the English language. 

Like a true Teuton, he invariably misplaced the letters 
“6” and “p” and stuck to the thick German “cZ” wherever “Z” 
was led into use. Despite these peculiarities, Professor Hofl“- 
meister was an excellent teacher and a skillful organist. He 
.had a tuning fork which he would strike against the music 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


135 


stand, and, placing it to his ear, listen to the sound, dragging 
the muscles of his face into comical contortions the while. 

Deacon Smithers introduced Miss Jerusha Ann Wea- 
thersby to the choir members, and expressing the hope that 
the professor would ultimately succeed in organizing the 
best chc^r in the city, withdrew. 

The rehearsals were conducted in the Sunday-school 
basement, which was sadl}*^ wanting in illumination. 

When Deacon Smithers had gone, the professor handed 
Jerusha Ann an open music-book and resumed the rehearsal. 

Playing a prelude he chanted the hymn : 

“ Do Dee mit all my heart I bray.’^ 

Sthop, vunce. Mister Vatson, you vas false on the P 
flat.’’ Striking the note, the professor rehearsed the tenor 
separately on his part several times, till he was familiar with 
it ; then he told him to take his place. Striking the tuning 
fork on the stand and hoisting his features as he listened, 
the professor gave the command ; 

“Eintz more als de beginning.” 

‘‘ To thee with all my heart I pray.” 

Jerusha Ann tore a bit of the fly leaf out of her hymn- 
book and made it into a spit-ball ; when the professor opened 
his huge mouth to give full tone to the last note, she dex- 
trously aimed it for the yawning chasm, which put a sudden 
termination to the song. 

‘‘ Do Dee mit all my heart I bra — spth — spth — spth — . 
Auch! Lieber Himmel, ein flying pug auf dem vindow 
kumed in mein droat,” sputtering and spitting the professor 
at last got relief. 

Jerusha Ann came forward with her music-book and 
asked the professor to run over her part with her. 

He complied and praised her accurate singing. 

The full score was rehearsed by the choir and more 


136 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


pieces of music distributed to the singers. This was a 
closing hymn, the last line reading: “Be ye faithful to 
the end.’’ 

The first word was continued for six beats ; the piece, 
unlike the last, was set in th^ natural key. Mr. Watson had 
so thoroughly retained the fiat sound, that he again made a 
mistake and gave it where it was not wanted. This provoked 
the professor, who rapped testily on the stand and repri- 
manded the tenor. 

“ Vas is das. Eh. You can’t make it right?” 

“Pee — spauch — spauch ! Pee — ” another wad of 
paper landed in the professor’s mouth, causing a sputter- 
ing — “Goodness gracious de pugs are so pad. Ve vill 
sthop de rehearsal for dis nighd.” 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A aiBL< 


137 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Jerusha Ann attends Miss Sawyer^ s Young Ladies* 
Academy. — Polishing the Rough Diamond. 

The Young Ladies’ Academy, of Mudville, was pre- 
sided over by the Rev. Deacon Smithers’ cousin, Miss 
Minerva Sawyer, a tall, thin, spectacled lady, whose incisive 
metallic voice, cut its way to the outer periphery of the audi- 
tory nerves, as a rapier thrust, challenging the hearer to 
mortal combat. 

Woe be to him, who entered the lists in a tilt of debate 
with Miss Minerva. The clanging consonants, jingled and 
jarred, or hissed with a fizz, suggestive of the sizzle of water 
poured on heated iron ; solid -phalanxes of ings.^ poured 
their full batteries oi sound against the enemy ; adjectives 
in the superlative, like mounted cavalry, dashed into the 
ranks of the foe, cleaving right and left, hewing down every 
obstacle ; while, the howitzers, the metaphysical field-peices 
wheeled into position, belched forth an unceasing fire of shot 
and shell. “Cannons of thought’s infinite grasp of the 
mighty deep of the infinites, infinite realm of the infinite,” 
until the guns of the enemy were silenced. 

Miss Minerva Sawyer was a native of Concord, New 
Hampshire, and as a matter of course, imbibed Emmerson- 
ian philosophy with the maternal lacteal fluid, ere the period 
of dentition broke out, providing her with incisors, where- 
with to articulate the mighty problems of that school of 
science, which deals with the abstract essence of the inrui 
itesimally infinite atoms of misty mists. 


138 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

Jerusha Ann Weathersb}^ was placed under the special 
tutelage of Miss Sawyer, that she might acquire a correct 
method of speaking English, and be embued with proper 
precepts of moral law, whereby her natural brusqueness of 
manner might be changed into a demure, lady-like demeanor, 
befitting her to enter society. 

On the first da}^ of her admission to Miss Sawyer’s 
Young Ladies’ Academy, Jerusha Ann behaved with 
unusual decorum, receiving the reprimands administered by 
the teachers, with amiable submission ; yet, her direct inter- 
rogatories concerning the curriculum of studies, caused a 
sensation among the scholars. 

“ Say, Miss Sawyer ! What is this down on my bill of 
fare? It says, ‘Calisthenics.’ ” 

“ Really, Miss Weathersby, you astonish me by the 
manner in which you address your teacher. Can you think of 
no better appellative than, ‘Say !’ ” Miss Sawyer adjusted 
her spectacles on her nose. and, with a grim visage, awaited 
the apology of her refractory pupil. 

“Hello ! How is that for calling attention ? I was afraid 
you would think ‘Hello’ too telephonic, may-be !” answered 
the new pupil. 

The laughter which followed this question, was quickly 
suppressed, by the ringing of the teacher’s bell. 

Frowning at the offender. Miss Sawyer, said : 

“ Miss Weathersby, I shall insist upon your observance 
of the rules of this academy. Whenever you have occasion 
to seek information on any subject, you must address your 
instructors by their proper names.” 

“ Done ! It’s a bargain. You’ll find me hunki-dori on 
the rules, if I do say it myself.” 

“ Miss Sawyer, will you please enlighten me as to the 
meaning of the word ‘ Calisthenics,’ enumerated in the 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


139 


curriculum of studies, which you graciously presented me 
with this morning?” Jerusha Ann looked so innocent, that 
her preceptress doubted not but that the slang phrases 
she persisted in using resulted from the force of habit. 

“The term ‘Calisthenics,’ Miss Weathersby, signifies 
a science which develops the inner consciousness of our 
being into an outward expression of form. ‘ Calisthenics,’ 
is derived from two Greek words signifying beauty and 
strengtji. It is the art, science or practice of healthful 
exercise of the body and limbs, to promote a graceful 
carriage of the human form.” 

“Oh, I see, thank you, mam.” Jerusha continued at 
her studies, and recited her lesson accurately, when the class 
was called. 

A little later in the day, she again appealed to the 
principal of the school for information. 

“ Miss Sawyer, would you have the kindness to tell me 
what ‘caligraphy’ means? That’s another conundrum down 
on m}^ printed menu.” 

“ ‘ Caligraphy ’ is one of the most indispensable accom- 
plishments included in the entire curriculum of this academy. 
No young lady can hope to attain that intellectual pre- 
eminence to which the yearning of atomic conglomerates 
of the psychological elements of nature aspire, in their 
search for the infinite perfection of the science of mind, 
without the aid of caligraphy,” replied Miss Sawyer. 

“Yes, but what does it all mean in United States. 
Can’t you talk it out in plain United States so a body can 
understand the thing?” persisted the new pupil. 

“ It means the art of delineation by means of certain 
recognized symbols expressing thoughts, infinite grasp of 
the limitless realm of the unfathomable stretch of the mind ; 
by means of an instrument commonly called a pen, upon a 


140 


BIDDY PINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


textile product now in general use among all civilized nations, 
the same as that of which your copy-book is formed.” Miss 
Sawyer gazed at her pupil with the air of self- approval, so 
habitual to her. . 

‘•Oh, you mean writing. What a lot of talk about 
such a plain thing. It looks to me that the fellow who put 
that big word down for just writing was troubled with a 
costiveness of ideas.*’ 

The scholars tittered as Jerusha Ann dipped her pen 
in the ink bottle and proceeded to write her copy. 

The routine of school discipline continued from day to 
day began to tell on the buoyancy of spirits for which 
Jerusha Ann Weathersby was remarkable. She began to 
look haggard and weary under the restraint imposed upon 
her. 

One day when unperceived by the teachers, Jerusha 
Ann climbed an oak tree that grew in the back yard. From 
the topmost branches she obtained a very fine view of the 
surrounding district and her heart leaped with joy as she be- 
held Jack Carson, driving his father’s wagon, coming down 
the street. Putting her^fingers in the corners of her mouth, 
Miss Weathersby gave a shrill whistle, such as boys usually 
indulge in, when they wish to attract the attention of their 
companions. 

The whistle was immediately answered by Jack Carson 
in a similar melody. He looked around in vain for the 
whistler, but a cat-call from the upper branches of the tree 
apprised him of the whereabouts of an old play-mate. 

“ Say Jack, I dasn’t come down, old spectacles is sure 
to be watching for me. Can’t you hitch up Pacer to your 
dad’s sleigh a and bring it round to-morrow evening, so you 
and I kin have a sleigh-ride? To-morrow will be Washing- 
ton’s birth day and I mean to have some fun. Bring a step 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


141 


ladder, a rope and a bucket with you and hang around till 
you hear my whistle. 

“All right, sis. I’ll be on hand at dusk,” Jack Carson 
cracked his whip and spurred his horses, passed on as he 
beheld Miss Sawyer looking out of the • class-room window. 

The school-bell rang, and Jerusha Ann descended from 
her perch of observation, to the amazement of the pupils, 
some of whom informed the principal of Miss Weathersby’s 
want of lady-like deportment. The offender was called up 
before the teacher’s platform. 

“1 have heard such tales of your flagrant misconduct, 
Miss Weathersby, that I can scarcely believe it possible 
that a young lady of your years can be guilty of such an 
offense. Did you climb the tree?” 

” Yes, mam.” 

“ What caused you to do such a horrible thing?” 

“ My legs !’ I can’t climb hand over fist yet.” 

“Can it be that the auditory nerve has failed to com- 
municate to my tympanum the correct sound, or is it possible 
that a young lady-pupil of this academy has uttered a vulgar 
cognomen to express those perpendicular supporters of the 
human frame usually denominated limbs?” 

Miss Sawyer looked at the scholars for an answer : the 
proposition seemed too overwhelming for belief. 

“Yes, mam, I said legs, because I wanted to tell the 
whole truth. Had I said limbs you might have been in 
doubt as to which limbs, my arms or legs, and as my legs 
formed this motive power by which I was propelled up the 
tree, 1 came to the gist of the matter at once.” 

Jerusha Ann seemed very respectful by her manner, 
although her words were not in harmony with the teacher’s 
views. 

“ Why did you climb the tree. Miss Weathersby?” 


142 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

“Oh, just for fun and to limber up a bit my legs and 
arms, for every bit of me fairly aches from sitting bolt up- 
right, and I fear my jaw is becoming dislocated from having 
to skirmish round in the dictionary for words of fifteen syl- 
lables to express my meaning. I’m not used to that kind 
of talk, and milk tastes as sweet to my lips as the lacteal 
fluid of a vacine quadruped.” Jerusha Ann folded her arms 
and awaited her sentence. 

“ Are you not aware that you have broken the rules of 
this academy. Miss Weatherby ?” demanded the teacher in 
her cutting metallic voice. 

“No, mam.” 

“ No ! ” “ What do you mean. Miss?” 

“ Just what I say: No. I have studied the statutes 
and find no prohibition against climbing trees. Here is a 
copy of the rules. I know them by heart. You may see for 
yourself.” 

Miss Sawyer read over the rules, blank amazement 
taking the place of pronounced displeasure on her coun- 
tenance. “Go to your seat. Miss Weathersby, I shall take 
this matter into consideration,” she said. 

‘ ‘ While you are about it, I hope you will take into con- 
sideration the propriety of giving us a holiday to-morrow. 
Miss Sawyer.” 

“How can you dare to ask such a concession?” The 
angry frown again settled on the teacher’s face. 

“ It will be the birthday of the Father of our Country. 
He dared to do anything. I feel kind of patriotic like him, 
and I dare to do lots of things, some girls would be afraid to 
do ; but they keep up a whole hippodrome, menagerie and 
circus of thinking all the same.” 

Jerusha Ann returned to her seat, while consternation 
seized upon her school companions. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


143 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Rev* Ichabod Weathershy Visits His Nephew * — 
Very Peculiar Idiosyncrasies of Mrs* Weathershy 
in the Treatmeat of Her Husband^ s Uncle* 

Samuel We athersby received a letter from his father’s 
brother, informing him that the brotherhood had deputed 
him to visit the United States, in the cause of his order ; 
and that while attending to his ministerial duties, he would 
pay Samuel Weathershy a visit at Mudville. 

Most joyful was this news to the successful business man. 
When a curly-headed, barefooted boy, rambling through the 
pineries of New England, Sam Weathershy had accom- 
panied his uncle Ichabod on many a hunting expedition, and 
many reminiscences of boyhood’s days were recalled to view, 
by the reading of this letter from beyond the sea. 

Ichabod Weathershy, as pictured to the vivid imagina- 
tion of his nephew, was a stout, able-bodied Englishman, 
with blonde hair and side whiskers, rosy complexion and 
mild blue eyes. 

Alas, time’s snows had rested upon the blonde locks, and 
furrowed the plump countenance of the Rev. Ichabod 
Weathershy ; the only feature by which his nephew could 
identify his uncle was the mild blue eye, kindling with com- 
passion at the tale of woe, and moistened with the dew of 
human sympathy, as he recounted the many traits of his 
dear departed brother, which he now beheld in the lineaments 
of his son, when met by him at the depot. 


144 


BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHEEATION; 


The greeting between uncle and nephew was cordial, 
yet tempered by sad thoughts of the past. 

Mrs. Weathersby had made great preparations for 
entertaining the Rev. Ichabod Weathersby. The spare 
bed-room had been newly carpeted and upholstered, new 
lace curtains adorned the windows, not only of the guest’s 
chamber, but in all the bed-rooms in the house. A grand 
dinner was contemplated on the progamme, but Samuel 
Weathersby would not allow the invitations to be sent until 
after his uncle’s arrival. 

' The Rev. Ichabod Weathersby belonged ter the Episco- 
palian order of Monks, whose monastery was located near 
Oxford in England. His visit to the United States was 
for the purpose of collecting funds to pay the debt on the 
Chapel, and to bring back to England with him young 
ministers disposed to join the order. 

The weather was exceedingly cold on the day of the 
minister’s arrival, and Mrs. Weathersby determined, that 
every precaution should be taken, to prevent her guest’s 
catching cold. 

She had purchased at a house-furnishing store, a warm- 
ing pan, one of the odd utensils which the craze for ancient 
things had brought into use. 

This warming pan, facetiously termed the friar, was 
made of metal, it had a long tubular handle through which 
boiling water was poured into the hollow interior. When 
filled with the hot water, the stopper w^as screwed tight in its 
place, and the article was ready for use. 

The manner of using the warming pan was to place it 
between the sheets on the bed, to take the chill out of them, 
and about one hour’s time was required before the genial 
effects of the heat were diflTused thoroughly over the bed. 

After supper on the day of his arrival, the Rev. Ichabod 


OB, THAT ROMP OF A OIKL, 


145 


Weathersby asked permission to retire to the library, that 
he might make his evening meditation. 

While the minister was engaged at his devotions, his 
nephew consulted with the partner of his bosom, as to the 
invitations to be sent for the grand dinner. 

Time slipped by until the mistress of the household 
observed that it was eight o’clock. Hurrying out to the 
kitchen, she called : 

“ Bridget ! ” 

Yis, mam.” 

“ Did you see the friar out there in the kitchen?’* 

“ Yis, mam ; I did,” 

“Do 3^ou know about it? ” 

“ Oh ! Yis, mam ; I do.” 

“Well then, since }^ou have seen them before, I suppose 
it’s not necessary for me to show you? ” 

“ Oh ! no, mam ; I knows what a friar is. I’ll go bail, 
widout cornin’ to Amerikaj' to be to wit.” 

“ Very well, then ; since you know all about it, I need 
only tell you, when it is hot to take the friar up and put it 
in the bed upstairs. Do you hear ? ” 

“ Yis, mam ; I’ll go do it at wanst,” 

Mrs. Weathersby returned to the dining-room, to con- 
tinue making out the list of invitations. 

Biddy got her kitchen-lamp and proceeded to hunt for 
the friar. Now as the Rev. Ichabod Weathersby wore a 
long cassock, very similar to the Catholic monk’s dress, 
Biddy naturally concluded that her mistress desired her to 
show the guest to his sleeping apartment, when she ordered 
her to put the friar in the bed. She found the minister en- 
gaged at his devotions in the library. Knocking at the 
door, a voice said : 

“Come in.” 


146 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

“I beg yer pardon, sur, for breakin’ in on yer prayurs, 
but the misthrus towlt me to put you to bed, sur, if you are 
hot,” making a courtesy as she spoke, Biddy awaited an 
answer. 

“Oh, Mrs. Weathersby thinks being fatigued from my 
journey, I had better retire earl}" ; well, I am ready.” Closing 
his book the minister preceded Biddy Finnigan up the 
stairs. 

“Here is yer bed, sur. If ye wants anything, sur. I’ll 
bring it to ye in half a jiffy.” Biddy put more coal on the 
fire, and waited for any orders the visitor might give. 

“I don’t wish for anything more, except that you do me 
the favor to call me early in the morning.” The Rev. 
Ichabod Weathersby gave the maid an English half crown. 

“Thank ye, sur, an’ pleasant dhrames to ye.” Biddy 
Finnigan closed the door and departed. 

The parson soon after retired to rest. 

Biddy busied herself preparing the Tipperary hens for 
breakfast. Sam Weathersby had ordered prairie chickens 
home, and Biddy set to work picking the feathers off the 
Tipperary hens, as she persisted in calling them. While en- 
gaged at her labors the door-bell rang, and answering its 
summons. Miss Susan Brown, a member of the Bethel 
Church choir, was admitted. 

Miss Brown was very cold, and had called to warm her 
hands before proceeding further homewards, as the night 
was so bitter, cold. 

“Stay all night, you can sleep in Jerusha Ann’s bed,” 
pleaded Mrs. Weathersby, as she chafed the numb fingers 
of her visitor. 

“I believe I will; the night is so very cold,” replied 
Miss Brown. 

The invitations were discussed until Mrs. Weathersby 




‘•1 want ye to get up, sur, you’re in the wrong bed. Themisthrus towit me to 
put you in thother bed, sur.” 

[1471 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIBL. 


147 


noticed that it wanted but a quarter to nine. She went to 
the kitchen-hall and called : 

“Biddy!’’ 

“Yis, mam.” 

“Did you put the friar in the spare bed? ” 

“Yis, mam.” 

“Well, I guess it is hot enough now. Miss Brown is 
going to stay all night. You go right upstairs and take the 
friar out of the spare bed, and put it into Jerusha Ann’s 
bed. Do you hear ? ” 

“Yis, mam; I’ll do it as soon as I wash the 
feathers off me hands.” 

Biddy proceeded on her errand. She knocked loudly 
at the Rev. Ichabod Weathersby’s chamber door. 

“Who is there?” demanded the parson, startled from 
his sleep. 

“Its me,” answered the maid. 

“What do you want?” 

“I want ye to git up, sur, you’re in the wrong bed ; the 
misthrus towlt me to put ye in thother bed, sur.” 

“Well, wait until I am ready.” The minister 
dressed himself and opened the door. 

“I’m sorry, sur, fur disturbin’ ye, but herself is very 
particular, sur, an’ she always wants things her own way ; 
but shure, I thought it was here she wanted je to sleep.” 

By this time Jerusha Ann’s bed-room was reached, and 
the minister, being very sleepy, disrobed and went to bed in 
his new quarters. 

Biddy returned to her labors ; and the family discussion, 
aided by Susan Brown’s advice, was resumed concerning 
the list of invitations to the grand dinner. 

At half-past nine. Miss Brown signified her intention of 
retiring, but Mrs. Weathersby asked her to wait a few 


148 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

minutes until she gave some directions to Biddy. Calling 
again, Biddy answered : 

“Yis, mam.” 

‘‘Did you put the friar in Jerusha Ann’s bed, Biddy? ” 

“I did, mam.” 

“Well, I guess it is hot enough now ; you go upstairs 
and take the friar out of Jerusha Ann’s bed, and put it in 
mine.” 

“Murdhur in Irish, what’s that ye’re tellin’ me to do? 
Shure didn’t ye bid me take the friar to Jerusha Ann’s 
room, an’ so I did ; an’ what more do ye want at this time 
o’ night? ” answered Biddy, in a petulant manner. 

“Do just as I tell you; put the friar in my bed, and 
that’s all you need do to-night,” retorted the mistress. 

“Well, I suppose fur pace sake, I moight as well do it 
first as last.” 

With a sore heart Biddy again ascended the stairs and 
knocked at the chamber door. 

“My! My I What is the matter?” inquired the parson. 

“In thro th, I’m not here wid me own consint, sur ; 
its rabbits rest they’re givin’ ye. But I was sint up, sur, an’ 
she towlt me to take ye out o’ this bed an’ put ye in 
another.” 

“Well, well ; really this a very extraordinary proceed- 
ing.” The Rev. Icliabod Weathersby considered the sub- 
ject for a few moments not knowing what to do. 

“Ye could whistle that if ye had a tune to it, sur. 
Here she is peltin’ ye from Billy to Jack, an’ no sooner are 
ye fast asleep, then she gits unaisy in her mind, an’ its me 
that has to be routin’ ye out o’ yer bed, an’ shovin’ 3^e 
about like snuff at a wake ; but there’s no escapin’ it, sur; 
ye have to git up an’ go into thother bed, so ye moight as 
well make a vartue uv necessity, an’ rowl out agin, sur.” 


149 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 

“Well, wait out there until I am dressed.’’ The min- 
ister donned his clothing and opened his door. 

Muttering her displeasure at being compelled to per- 
form the unwelcome task, Biddy conducted the guest to 
Mrs. Weathersby’s room. 

“Herself is a good woman, sur, barrin’ the fidgets. 
It’s a divil uv a fit that comes on her betimes, ah’ she goes 
fitchye fotchye, foosterin’ about little things, an’ she’s not 
two minutes in the wan way o’ thinkin’ ; only blown about 
be every wind like a weather-cock. Himself is a rock o* 
sinse, an’ as good-hearted a man as ever stepped in sole^ 
leather, but herself is as unaisy in her mind as a pig. Is 
there anything ye’d like to have, sur, before I go to bed?” 

“Well, if you call me in the morning, early, that is the 
only favor I shall ask you to do me. Good night.” 

“Good night, sur, an’ I hope ye’ll sleep in pace afthur 
this.” 

Biddy Finnigan went to bed ; Miss Brown sought re- 
pose on Jerusha Ann’s couch ; but Mr. and Mrs. Weathersby 
continued at their tasks till the clock struck twelve. 

“ Twelve o’clock ! I declare, and the list not yet com- 
pleted ; I must go show uncle Ichabod his room,” exclaimed 
Sam Weathersby. He went to the library and found that 
the gentleman had retired. 

“Keziah, did anyone show uncle his room; I am 
ashamed of our conduct. What will he think of us? ” 

“I reckon Biddy showed him where the spare bed-room 
is ; I heard her talking to some one a couple of hours ago, 
but I intended you should conduct your uncle upstairs. I 
suppose he asked Biddy to do it, seeing us occupied,” ex- 
plained Mrs. Weathersby. 

“Well, there is no help for it now ; I must only apolo- 
gize in the morning. Come, let us go to bed, Keziah, and 


150 BIDDY FINNIdAN'S BOTHERATION; 

we will finish this in the morning/’ taking the list with him, 
Sam Weathersby went upstairs, followed by his wife. 

Mrs. Weathersby took off her clothes and put on her 
night-dress, giving her husband his night-shirt out of the 
wardrobe. She was very tired and went to her bed — but lo ! 
a man was snoring audibly. She drew aside the silk 
curtains that hung from the brass poled tester, the latest 
addition of decorative art with which the upholsterer had 
adorned her bed-stead, when the placid features of the Rev. 
Ichabod Weathersby appeared to view. 

The sudden glare of light awoke the sleeper. Sitting 
bolt-upright he stared at the intruder upon his repose. 

“Pray, madam, what is this for?” demanded the 
parson in an angry' voice. 

“Oh, nothing; only it is a mistake; you are in the 
wrong bed.” 

“In the wrong bed? Pray, when will I reach the right 
one ; at this rate of going on, it will take a year, I presume, 
and I shall be compelled to air all the damp sheets in the 
city, before being allowed to take a night’s sleep without 
molestation. Fie, for shame, madam ! 1 wonder that you 
have the affrontery to appear before me in your dishabille. 
Go out of the room at once. I believe the maid was right 
in believing you were non compos mentis. Nothing short of 
a feeble intellect could palliate your offense, madam.” 

The Rev. Ichabod Weathersby was in a state of mind 
to mete out rebuke and reprimand to his nephew’s wife ; the 
more so, as he remembered the apologies of the maid-ser- 
vant for being compelled to perform the unwelcome task, of 
moving him from bed to bed, just to gratify the nonsensical 
whims of her mistress, whom she had declared to be as “ un- 
aisy in her mind as a pig.” Scowling at the lady with 
haughty displeasure, the minister pointed to the door with 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


161 


his index finger, intimating that she should take her de- 
parture instantly. 

Samuel Weathersby now came forward, though his 
drapery was of the scantiest pattern. 

“We beg your pardon, Uncle Ichabod, it is all a mis- 
take ; you are in the wrong bed, that is all ; we had the 
spare room fixed up for you, but we will leave you now, and 
take it ourselves.’’ 

“The spare room did you say? Pray where is that 
apartment, Samuel? From this night’s experience I should 
say one might journey to the north pole without being able 
to discover it. Really, Samuel, I must say your wife has 
been guilty of the strangest idiosyncrasy in the treatment of 
a guest, that I have ever met with. This is the third bed I 
have been removed to this night, all on account of Mrs. 
Weathersby’s peculiar directions. I am not astonished, my 
poor boy, to see the furrowed lines on your face, that should be 
rounded and plump at your years. I shall remain here for 
this night, but after having experienced the treatment I have 
just received, I must decline the favor of the dinner in- 
tended in my honor.” 

‘‘We are very sorry, uncle, but wait until morning; I 
am confident there is a mystery to be solved about this affair. 
Good night.” 

Sam Weathersby and his wife took their clothes and 
withdrew to the spare room. 

In the morning it was discovered that Biddy Finnigan 
had substituted the Rev. Ichabod Weathersby for the warm- 
ing-pan, and the minister was persuaded to prolong his 
visit, though no entreaties of Mrs. Weathersby could in- 
duce him to accept of a grand entertainment in his honor. 


162 


BIDDT FINNIGtAN’S BOTHEBAIION; 


CHAPTER XXV. 

/ 

Miss Sawyer Requires the Young Lady Students to he in their 
Seats at the Second Tintinnabulation of the Academ- 

ical Tintinnahulum. — The Stolen Sleigh- Ride . — 
Jerusha Ann takes Revenge on that Pesky 
Tintinnahulum. — Taking Doion Aris- 

tocracy. 

All day long Jerusha Ann was in a feverish state of 
excitement. She asked Miss Sawyer if even a half holiday 
might be expected in honor of Washington’s birthday. 

“No, Miss Weathersby; all the 3^oung ladies of this 
academy will be obliged to attend their scholastic exercises 
as usual. They must be in their seats promptly, ere the 
second tintinnabulation of the academical tintinnabu- 
lum.’^ 

A broad smile spread over Jerusha Ann’s features as 
she listened to the reply. 

“What is that? Is that a new division of time? All 
that Latin jaw-breaker is low Dutch to me. I can’t get the 
drift of 3"Our meaning into my noddle,” she answered. 

“It is very strange. Miss Weathersby, that these com- 
mon-place expressions fail to penetrate 3^our cranium ; your 
comprehension must be more obtuse than that of any other 
pupil,” retorted Miss Sawyer. 

“It must be, I reckon, then. Can I hunt the big words 
in the unabridged dictionary, Miss Sawyer? ” 

“Certainly, every student is at liberty to hunt a word in 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


153 


the dictionary, or to consult any work on history or philos- 
ophy^, whenever the miasma of doubt befogs the intellectual 
vision.” 

Miss Sawyer went into the class-room to give instruc- 
tion to the first class concerning the zoophites of the glacial 
period, and the amorphous character of pumpkins growing in 
the prehistoric ages, compared with the yellow rotundity of 
this vegetable product of our own day. 

Jerusha Ann got down the big dictionary and using 
the window-sill for a stand, she hunted out the jaw-breaKers 
that had puzzled her comprehension. But Jerusha Ann had 
another object in view beside searching wisdom’s page for 
lore, she wanted to catch a glimpse of Jack Carson when he 
would be driving by in his father’s wagon. 

In this she was successful, and, by a system of facial 
telegraphy, succeeded in ascertaining that Jack would be 
around at the appointed hour with the sleigh. 

Miss Sawyer called the second class in geology to recite, 
and Jerusha Ann followed her companions into the class-room. 

After supper Miss Weathersby astonished her teachers 
by making application to be allowed to go into the school- 
room for the purpose of consulting some historical authors 
concerning certain points in history, as she wished to in- 
corporate some quotations from them in her composition. 

The permission was cheerfully granted, and Je- 
rusha Ann read a little history, and arranged the window so 
that it could easily be raised from the outside. 

Watching her opportunity, she wrapped a warm shawl 
around her and slipped out into the back-yard. 

To climb the oak-tree was but the work of a moment. 
Putting her fingers at each side of her mouth, she uttered a 
shrill whistle, which was instantly answered by Jack Car- 
son’s response. 


154 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


A few minutes later J ack called from the outside : 

“I say, all right; I have the fixins’, Jerusha, a little 
further up the street/’ 

‘'Bring the bucket and rope, Jack, and if ye can’t 
climb up into the belfry without it, ye may fetch the ladder 
also.” 

Jerusha Ann directed her accomplice to fasten the rope 
around his waist and let down the bucket tied to the other 
end into the*jard. It was done. 

“Now, Jack, if you can’t fix the bell steady, upside 
down, so as to hold water. I’ll pass you up some sticks of 
wood first.” 

The sticks were required, and when the bell was braced 
perfectly steady. Jack let down the rope again. 

Jerusha Ann tied the bucket filled with water to the 
end of the rope, and Jack hauled it up, pouring the con- 
tents into the open mouth of the bell, until it was filled to 
the ver}" brim with water. 

“Pay the rope out to me. Jack, and take the bucket with 
you. I’ll climb the tree, fasten the rope to the outer limb, 
and let myself down hand over fist.” Jerusha Ann tied the 
rope to her boot, and climbed the tree as nimbly as a squirrel. 
She then fastened the rope firmly to the over-hanging limb, 
and descended hand over fist, to the pavement. 

The sleigh with comfortable buffalo robe stood in readi- 
ness. Jerusha got in and Jack tipped up Pacer to his best 
exertions. 

The night was very cold and the keen air bracing, but 
as she sped along over the crisp snow, Jerusha Ann was not 
at peace with her own conscience. This was the first time 
she had ever acted without feeling that her father was dis- 
posed to look kindly upon her mischievous pranks. 

As they neared her father’s oflice, a light was perceived. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


155 


‘‘Say, Jack, pull up ; let us get dad to come along. He 
always was my best friend. He won’t be mad about it. I just 
long 10 give dear old pap a good hug, anyhow.” 

Jack pulled up and Jerusha Ann jumped out of the 
sleigh and rushed into her father’s private office. Creeping 
up behind him, and blindfolding his eyes with her hands, 
she propounded the conundrum : “Guess who it is?” 

“Why Jerusha, my own darling daughter, what brought 
you here ? ” replied the astonished parent. 

“A sleigh and Jack Carson’s pony. Say, dad, don’t 
you want to come along? We’re going to have a jolly 
sleigh-ride just for a couple of hours. I stole out without 
letting old spectacles know anything about it. Don’t you 
remember the story of that Arkansas girl, that sot and sot 
till she almost growed to the bench? I’m just in her fix, pa. 
My mind is not made up whether I belong to the animal, 
vegetable or mineral kingdom, and I have a doubt concern- 
ing my own identity, not knowing but I may be a zoophite 
belonging to the misty mists of the abyss of things no fellow 
can find out.” 

Jack Carson entered the office and asked Mr. Weathersby 
to come along, he and Jerusha were going out to the Wash- 
ington House to have an oyster stew, and they would be glad 
to have his company. • 

Looking at the honest countenance of the 3^oung lad, 
Mr. Weathersby could not find it in his heart to scold him. 

“Jack, this is a little too much, m3' boy. The teacher 
may expell Jerusha Ann for this night’s piece of business. 
However, as 3-011 both came to me, I’ll not be too hard on 
3'ou. Take 3'Our sleigh-ride and return quickly, and never 
do such a thing again. Be careful of my girl. Jack. I 
would pluck out m3" right e3"e sooner than have harm come 
to her.” 


156 BIDDY FINNIGAN’s BOTHERATION; 

“Never was a better father in all the world than mine/’ 
exclaimed Jerusha Ann, as she hugged and kissed her father, 
and then jumped into the sleigh. 

The sleigh glided swiftly over the crisp white snow. 
Jerusha Ann felt happy, a hundred-fold more happy than 
she had felt before seeing her father. 

Wild and thoughtless and up to mischievous pranks 
at all times, Jerusha Ann yet kept.her sense of filial affec- 
tion unimpaired. So long as her father was made a confident 
of, she felt as gay as a lark. 

When Jack Carson and Jerusha Ann arrived at the 
country tavern, they found that Lord Hartington, an English 
peer, who had been hunting in the neighborhood, had en- 
sconced himself in front of the fire and, with the evening 
paper in his hand, was monopolizing things generally. 

Jack ordered two oyster stews, but neither by hint or 
direct appeal could he prevail on his lordship to budge from 
his position, only by stealing a furtive opportunity could 
either Jerusha Ann or her companion warm their hands at 
the fire. 

Remembering that she had provided herself with a sup- 
ply of torpedoes that morning, in hopes of having a half 
holiday, Jerusha Ann tried the experiment of explosive per- 
suasion on his lordship. 

Throwing a handful of the explosive bombs on the 
floor under his lordship, as he stood, in a Colossus of Rhodes’ 
attitude, before the fire, she beheld a fulfillment of her 
hopes. 

The English lord made a sudden jump, giving an acro- 
batic performance rivaling a circus clown, while he called 
to the landlord : 

“Landlord, here ! Here ! A conspiracy has been per- 
petrated upon your premises on the person of one of Her 


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OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


157 


Majesty’s officers. I accuse that Irish waiter of yours of 
having attempted my life with a dynamite bomb. Have the 
fellow searched instantly, sir, and we shall discover another of 
those foul plots by the Invincibles. I shall report this affair to 
the Home Government at once, sir.” 

Lord Hartington gazed at the landlord as if he sus- 
pected him of complicity in the plot. 

Two men seized the waiter and searched his clothing for 
explosive machines, but the}’ only discovered a pocket 
whiskey-flask in his inside pocket. 

Jerusha Ann stepped forward and explained the acci- 
dent. 

“You see, landlord, this man was monopolizing all the 
Are, so that I couldn’t warm my hands at it, and 1 just 
threw a few torpedoes so,” dashing another handful of the 
torpedoes under the irrate lord as she spoke, by way of illus- 
tration. Not only w’as the same explosive noise produced, 
but the English lord jumped higher than before, every hair 
on his head standing out with affright. 

Jack Carson paid for the oysters, and took Jerusha back 
to the sleigh, after she deposited a handful of the offending 
pyrotechnics with the proprietor of the Washington House, 
in case of future trouble for evidence. 

It was well that Jack Carson was out of hearing when 
the representative of Her Majesty gave expression to his 
sentiments : 

“The impertinent minx, to dare do such an houtrage; 
the brazen hus ” 

“Stop, we don’t allow any such language to be applied 
to a lady patron of his house. It was only a frolicsome 
trick of a school-girl, and Miss Weathersby’s father is just 
the very man to treat you to a breakfast of lead, if you say 
anything against his daughter. You can settle your account 


158 BIDDY FlNNiaAN^S BOTHERATION; 

now and leave this house, if the place does n’t suit you, sir,” 
remarked the landlord ; but his guest concluded to remain 
until morning. 

When Jerusha Ann returned to the academy, it was 
half-past eight o’clock. She got Jack to put the ladder up 
to the window which she had left partly open, and entering 
through the window, she went up to her room, without 
exciting the least suspicion as to her adventure. 

The next morning, the tintinnabulum failed to tintinna- 
bulate, and when the janitor ascended the belfry to see 
what was the matter, he found the upturned bell frozen in 
one mass of solid ice. Jerusha Ann had her revenge on 
that school-bell. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


159 


f 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Jeruslia Ann entertains the Rev. Ichabod Weathersby 
with a History of her Pranks. — The Citizens of 
Mudville are Treated to an April-fool Joke. 

The Rev. Ichabod Weathersby had concluded his 
labors in the Northwest, and had promised to pay his 
nephew, a farewell visit, before leaving the country. 

In honor of her granduncle’s visit, Jerusha Ann was 
allowed to come home for a few weeks. Spring had come 
with balmy breath, unlocking the ice-bound river and 
causing all nature to rejoice. 

While taking promenades with her reverend kinsman, 
Jerusha Ann conceived the idea of getting up a little diver- 
sion in her own line to amuse her father’s uncle. 

It was late in March, and Jerusha Ann concluded that 
an April-fool joke of an expansive character, would be just the 
thing. She sounded her reverend^kinsman, concerning his 
theory regarding practical jokes, and April-fool’s day. 

To the delight of her heart, the aged divine sat down 
on a rustic bench, near the river, and gave her a history of 
his own pranks, when he was a school-boy, and the tricks 
he had played upon the college professors in later years. 

Never had she entertained so strong an affection for the 
reverend gentleman, as when she had listened to the 
recital of the mischievous pranks her aged kinsman had 
perpetrated, when the hot blood of youth coursed in his 


veins. 


160 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

Jerusha Ann was a great favorite with the Reverend 
Ichabod Weathersby, and as he listened to histories of the 
various pranks Jerusha Ann related, his admiration was 
increased. When she told of the sausage chase with Hans 
Kippelheimer, he said : 

That reminds me of a trick I once played on a huck- 
ster, who sold slices of boiled corned beef to the Oxford 
students. I ordered a slice with a coating of mustard spread 
all over it, and balancing the slice in my hands, apparently 
to ascertain its weight, I threw the slice in the hucksters 
face, and had the fun of seeing his countenance all smeared 
with mustard. Poor fellow, he was a good natured man, and 
bore all our pranks with the best of humor. Ever}’ boy in 
the college mourned for Andy, when he died.’’ Rev. Ichabod 
Weathersby paid the tribute of a sigh to the memory 
of the departed huckster. 

That afternoon, Jerusha Ann made Mrs. Carson a call. 
Jack and his friend held a private consultation together, and 
Mrs. Carson was finally admitted to the conference. When 
a conclusion had been reached, the meeting adjourned. 

The next morning, Sam Weathersby read an account 
of a wonderful invention, and a wager of $1000.00, that 
had been staked on its trial. 

The wager read : 

“Prize, $1,000.00! A new invention ! Apeculiarly con- 
structed pair of boots, by means of which a man will be ena 
bled to walk upon the waters, will be tested by the inventor, 
who has accepted a challenge to walk across Big River, in a 
pair of cork boots, on Monday afternoon, in the presence of 
the citizens of Mudville, for a wager of $1,000.00.” 

The civic societies will turn out in honor of the occasion, 
and the military band, from Washington Barracks, will 
play popular airs, ras a tribute to the genius of our distin- 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


161 


guished countryman, Mr. Goodsell, whose invention it is 
thought will revolutionize local commerce in the near 
future. % 

This announcement was copied by exchanges and circu- 
lated extensively, so that when the day arrived, all the 
trains leading into Mudville were densely packed with 
people, coming to witness the wonderful performance. 

Business was entirely suspended at Mudville, on Monday 
afternoon, and the citizens and visitors crowded the river 
bank for miles along its border, *not knowing at which 
precise locality Mr. Goodsell would cross. 

Delegations of reporters from New York, Boston, 
Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Brooklyn and 
many other cities, were at work interviewing the newspaper 
men and the prominent citizens of Mudville, concerning 
the coming event ; but the reticence of these gentlemen, only 
piqued the curiosity of these knights of the pencil to more 
indefatigable exertions, in searching for the bottom fact of 
the mystery. 

Jerusha Ann Weathersby went with Jack Carson for a 
few minutes, to endeavor to catch a glimpse of Mr. Goodsell, 
promising to return to her father, mother and Reverend 
uncle, as soon as she had found out which would be the best 
position from which he could be seen. 

Ere many minutes had elapsed, that “ Romp of a GirP’ 
had concocted a new plan for entertaining the expectant 
crowd, and returning without her escort, led the Weathersby 
party to the top of a hill near by. 


162 


BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Mickey Houghlahan the Unseen Power Behind the Throne . — 

The Battle of the Party Flags. — Hibernian Tactics. 

When the Weathersby party arrived at the top of the 
hill they found a stand, temporarily erected of loose boards,^ 
and placards announcing that from this stand the best 
speakers of the Democratic and Republican parties would 
address the masses in favor of their respective candidates 
and principles. 

Hon. Jas. O. Riordan, the Democratic nominee, was 
the first to mount the rostrum. He spoke in a very enter- 
taining manner, ^illustrating his anti-tarifl* doctrines by 
amusing anecdotes, and was loudly applauded by the crowd. 

Next the Republican nominee, a tall gentleman of spare 
form, and an incisive speaker, who used gesticulation very 
freely, held forth. 

Before the Honorable Horatio Fitzdoodledom had pro- 
ceeded far in his debate, he made personal allusions and; 
accused his opponent, the Hon. Jas. O. Riordan of being 
guilty of Hibernicism, in supposing that the American 
people could be cajoled into voting for him by reciting an 
anecdote. He regarded the utterances of the Democratic 
party as a stupendous joke, which would be treated by the 
test of the ballot-box with merited ridicule. 

The speaking drew the crowd to the hill, and the masses 
were wedged together in a compact mass. 

When the Honorable Horatio Fitzdoodledom had men- 
tioned the personal weakess of his opponent, as his Hiber- 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


163 


nicism, he excited the ire of Mickey Houghlahan, who 
took the matter to heart as an insult to his countrymen. 

The platform consisted of a couple of large drygoods 
boxes placed on their sides, with loose planks laid across 
them. 

Mickey Houghlahan crept into the box under the 
speaker (and having previously inserted the handle of one 
of the Democratic flags through a knot hole), he now waved 
it triumphantly over the speaker’s head, and at every pause 
the Honorable Horatio Fitzdoodledom made, Mickey shouted 
through the knot hole : 

“Hoorah! for the Dimocrats I Three cheers for the 
Hon. Jimmy O. Riordan, byes ! ” 

The appeal was answered by three cheers and a 
tiger from the Democrats. 

But the secretary of the Republican Central Committee 
was not slow to perceive the advantage this diversion 
gave the enemy. 

Ramming a longer-handled flag pole through an open- 
ing in the other box, he crawled into it, and waving the 
Republican flag above the other, shouted ; 

“ Hurrah ! for the Republican party ! the party .of home 
protection ! ” 

The battle was fairly begun now, and the crowd witnes- 
sed an impromptu performance of a struggle between the 
men under the platform, for a supremacy of their respective 
standards. Shouts of laughter from the by-standers were 
echoed far and near, and the crowd became interested in the 
contest, as their respective political bias inclined. 

The Republican flag at last gained the ascendency, and 
a triumphant yell from the Republican adherents announced 
their victory. 

But this exasperated the Irishman, who felt the full 


164 BIDDY FINNiaAN^S BOTHERATION; 

responsibility of the Democratic success or failure resting 
on his shoulders. By a prodigous exercise of strength, Mickey 
Houghlahan upset the platform, tumbling the Honorable 
Horatio Fitzdoodledom and the secretary of the Republican 
committee, into the crowd, and rolling his own box into the 
melee. Picking himself up, though bruised and mangled, 
Mickey Houghlahan mounted the broken boxes and waving 
the Democratic standard, shouted : 

“Hurrah ! for Jimmy O. Riordan P’ 

* The plight of the defender of Democracy was so ludicrous, 
that the spectators made merry over the affair, but night 
came on, and yet Mr. Goodsell failed to appear. 


OE, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


166 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Mrs, Weathershy takes Jerusha Ann to the Seaside with 
Mrs. Fitzdoodledom. — Admiral Fox asks the Blessing 

to a Bonntiful Repast of Clam Diet. — Biddy Finni- 
gan talks Irish to Jeannette. — Mrs. Gaston^ s 
French Maid. 

Mrs. Fitzdoodledom condescended to invite Mrs. 
Weathershy and her daughter to spend the summer season 
with her family at one of those quiet sea-side places, where 
you can he exclusive, you know, and not mix with the com- 
mon herd one finds at the hig hotels. 

Jerusha Ann was coming out in society and Mrs. Fitz- 
doodledom hinted that a French maid would he just the thing 
to give tone to Miss Weathershy’ s social standing. 

But Jerusha Ann had a mind of her own and as she was 
assured that every young lady of high standing in the 
best society, at the fashionable watering places was 
always attended by a French waiting-maid ; she emphatically 
declared that Biddy Finnigan should be her waiting-maid 
and none other, a resolution opposed by her mother and ap- 
proved by her father. 

Dressmakers were engaged to make ravishing toilets 
for Miss Weathershy, and appropriate attire for her maid. 

As Biddy Finnigan viewed her refiection in the pier- 
glass, she was between two minds, whether to laugh or cry. 

‘‘Musha, bad cess to the day I gave me consint to wear 
these clothes. This stiff linen cap like a sugar loaf wid a 
bordhur to it, looks loike a fools cap ; the frock is illigant, 


16G BIDDY FINNIGAN’s BOTHERATION; 

and the nate little muslin apron wid the pockets in it couldn’t 
be bate ; but the divil fly away wid the wan that invinted 
w earin’ a black silk stays outside yer frock. I’ll be fryin’ 
wid shame every time I meet a man goin’ the road while I 
have this on me.” 

No doubt remained in Jerusha Weathersby’s mind 
regarding her entree in society. If she failed to make an 
impression herself, her maid would undoubtedly cause a 
profound sensation. No one could regard that Milesian 
countenance, brimful of good humor and drollery, peeping 
forth from beneath a Norm and}" peasant’s cap, without re- 
laxing the muscles of the face. 

The Weathersby mansion was locked up ; the furniture 
done up in the regulation linen, and the master of the house- 
hold left to his lone sentinel duty, according to the most 
approved methods of polite society. 

Oyster Bay, a quiet and very fashionable sea-side re- 
sort, was selected as the Summer abode of the Fitzdoodle- 
doms and Weather sbys. 

The first morning after their arrival, the propi^ietor of 
the establishment with white choker neck-tie and a general 
air of sanctimoniousness, seated at the head of the table, 
invoked the blessing. 

The breakfast consisted of stewed clams, baked clams, 
pickled clams, clam-chowder, and some half raw biscuits and 
Rio coffee. 

As Admiral Fox, with the whites of his eyes turned up, 
delivered his peroration : “We thank Thee, O Lord, for this 
bountiful repast teeming with the fat of the land, which, in 
the plentitude of Thy goodness. Thou hast pleased to bestow 
upon us. We thank Thee for the copious rains that, falling 
upon the earth, hath enriched us with bountiful crops, and 
for the blessing of peace in our midst ; the great boon of 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


167 


just and righteous rulers in the land, and we pray that 
our Chief Magistrate may be directed by wisdom in all 
his acts, and his counsellors be actuated by principles of 
justice and harmony in the deliberations of State jurispru- 
dence ; that our ship of State may buffet the waves of ad- 
versity, and ride on the ocean of prosperity, and we humbly 
ask for those gathered around this bountiful board, prayer- 
ful hearts teeming with gratitude for these good gifts. Amen. ’ ’ 

Miss Weathersby horrified the assembled guests by say- 
ing : “I move we have some of the bounties you’ve been 
preaching about, Admiral. I reckon the cook has been keep- 
ing it hot while morning service was going on.” 

“If you desire any special article of food, we can 
have it cooked for you. Miss Weathersby,” said Mrs. Fox, 
with a forced smile. 

“Well, rd like a dozen saddle rock or Oyster Bay 
oysters, fried. I noticed you have a couple of barrels of real 
fresh ones out in the yard.” Jerusha Ann turned to the 
assembled guests and asked if any of them would join the 
oyster brigade. 

Many followed her example, Mrs. Gaston, one of the 
elite of the elite circles of New York society among the 
number. To the astonishment of Mrs. Fitzdoodledom, Je- 
rusha Ann Weathersby, by her unconventional ways, became 
the pet of that exclusive circle, around whose outer rim she 
had barely been permitted to rotate. 

Mr. and Mrs. Gaston with their daughter Eva had taken 
Jerusha Ann for a stroll on the beach in the afternoon. 
Upon their return, as they squatted on the sand in perfect 
enjoyment of the sea breeze, Jeannette, Eva’s French maid, 
was endeavoring to get into conversation with another lady’s 
attendant, whose costume proclaimed her a Normandy peas- 
ant maid. 


168 BIDDY FINNIGAN's BOTHERATION; 

II fait si chaudi' [It is very warm !] giving a shrug 
to her shoulders to emphasize her remark, observed Jean- 
nette. 

“See the show? Arrah! what show are ye talkin’ 
about?” The racy Hibernian brogue, coming from the 
Normandy peasant, made Mr. Gaston laugh heartily — he di- 
rected the attention of the ladies to the colloquy. 

Gazing in wonderment at her companion, Jeannette 
exclaimed: ^^Vous n'est pas Francaisf mats c*est drole.'* 
[You are not French? Well, that is strange.”] 

“Oh, I suppose its the clown you mane ; he does say 
droll things as ’id make a body split their sides laughin’, an’ 
why wouldn’t he, sure that’s his bizness.” 

Finding her words misunderstood, Jeannette added : 

“You not French? Can you spik French? ” 

“Faix, I dunnno ; I never thried, but I had a second 
cousin by me mother’s side, wan Mickey Houghlahan, ’an 
he used to play the Frinch horn illigant. It ’id do yer heart 
good to hear him playin’ the Groves o’ Blarney, on it.” 

The shout of laughter from the Gastons caused the 
speaker to turn her head. 

“Oh, begorr, there’s Miss Jerusha ; I’ll see if she wants 
me. Do you want me. Miss Jerushy?” 

“My friends, Mr. and Mrs. Gaston and Miss Eva, have 
made me quite comfortable, Biddy. Mr. Gaston, can you 
tell Biddy Finnigan some French to say to Jeannette?” 
Turning to her new acquaintances, Jerusha took this oppor- 
tunity of informing her entertainers that this was her maid. 

“Say Parlez vous Francais^ [Do you speak French,] 
Biddy, she will understand that,” Miss Eva graciously gave 
instruction to Biddy. 

“Maybe Miss, she moight think I was hintin’ she was 
fond uv a dhrop,” objected Biddy. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


169 


‘‘Oh no, how could she,” interposed Mr. Gaston. “Say 
Parlez vous Francais? ” 

Biddy went back to where Jeannette was sitting. 

“Is it barley you fancy?” she inquired. 

Mr. Gaston declared that he was under obligations to 
Miss Weathersby for having brought such an acquisition to 
the amusement loving loungers by the sea. 

“My dear, she is a perpetual circus; that maid of 
yours,” added Mrs. Gaston, as they gazed at Biddy endeav- 
oring to make herself understood by Jeannette, which she 
endeavored to do by winks and nods, and an occasional 
sentence in Irish. Jeannette all the while pouring forth a 
volley of French, which she finally settled down to a series 
of French shrugs, to signify she did not know what was 
said. 

“ Arrah, what’s the matthur wid yer showldhurs? Is it 
flays that’s bitin’ you? Flays is always bad in a sandy 
place ! I’ll sarch ye for thim, the theivin’ varmints.” 

Biddy made a vigorous onslaught on the neck drapery 
of the French maid, who excitedly withdrew from her touch, 
exclaiming : 

Fidonc! Que faites vous 9 Par ou me tirerai-je d' 
affaire 9 Ce que vous me dites est une enigme pour mois. 
Faites-moi ce plaisir de laisser moi tranquil, Jene jamais,** 
[Fie for shame ! What are you doing? How can 1 extricate 
myself from this difficulty ? All that you sa}^ is a mystery 
to me. Do me the favor to let me alone. I never — ] 

“ Is it chammy, yer axin’ for? Tare an ages ! what a 
lot o’ gibberish ye let out o’ ye all for a bit o’ chammy • 
Shure, chammy is only good for polishin’ furniture. Wouldn’t 
a bit o’ sponge do as well; sponge is betthur for flays?” 
Pulling a piece of sponge out of her pocket, as .she spoke, 
Biddy Finnigan approached Jeannette, for the purpose of 


170 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


performing the kindly service she had volunteered to do, but 
Jeannette kept retreating, shrugging her shoulders, and mak- 
ing grimaces until she reached the bath house, in which 
she sought refuge, followed by Biddy, whose Irish Bader- 
shin! Nahoclilish! ^’anne mon d/ioieZ,” [Nonsense ! Never 
mind ! Yer soul to the devil,] could be heard above 
Jeannette’s volley of French, with occasional phrases in Eng- 
lish. “An’ how can I get the flays ofl* of ye, if I don’t 
sthrip ye. It’s all very well to be modest, but shure, I’m 
only a woman like yerself, an’ it’s only by strippin’ ye in 
yer pelt, that I can dhrown the blackguard flays wid this 
sponge.” 

The Gastons laughed until they said their sides were 
sore, and Jerusha Ann Weathersby booked a wager of a 
pair of gloves with Mrs. Gaston, that her Irish maid would 
come off victorious in her contest with the Parisian 
Demoiselle. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


171 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Miss Weathershy's Clam-Bake with all the Clams. 

Oysters. — Jerusha Ann Tells the Ancient Story of 
Pat’s Interview with the Lobster Merchant . — 

“ 0/i, Pat! Whistle for your Dog!” 

‘^Arrah^ Whistle for yer Fish.^ Sur!” 

Jerusha Ann Weathersby couldn’t stand the diet of 
miserable beef, ham, half fish and half pork, poor scarce 
vegetables, sour bread and half-raw biscuits, with which the 
loungers by the sea, in this exclusive retreat, were regaled. 
It was like drawing eye-teeth to demand an extra supply of 
candles, and as Mrs. Weathersby objected to an}^ further 
appeals being made to the Major Domo, Admiral Fox, a 
title given the old salt for his proficiency as a sailor ; or 
to any demand upon his wife’s larder: Jerusha Ann took 
her maid, Biddy Finnigan, and started for the next village 
in quest of supplies. 

An immense market basket laden with supplies of sand- 
wich crackers, ground Java coffee, eggs, a sugar-cured ham, 
baker’s bread, loaf sugar, cheese, cherries, blackberries 
and salt, pepper ^d mustard, was borne upon the arm of 
Biddy Finnigan, while Miss Weathersby attired in a ravish- 
ing Parisian toilet, carried a coflfee-pot with a spirit lamp 
attachment, half a dozen tin cups, a grid-iron and a couple 
of bundles of spoons and knives and forks. 

‘‘ Biddy ! Let us strike out for the beach ! The Gas- 
tons and their fashionable friends will be there, taking an 


172 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


afternoon promenade, and I want to surprise them.’’ 
Jerusha sought the most frequented promenade, and was not 
long without meeting the Gastons, who gazed in surprise at 
the formidable array of tin ware carried by Miss Weathersby. 

“Is it moving day?” inquired Mr. Gaston, as he 
relieved the young lady of some of her burden. 

“Yes, don’t you want to come along. I am going to 
get up a clam-bake, just beyond the point.” 

Miss Eva and Mrs. Gaston insisted upon carrying the 
tin cups, and they proceeded on their journey encountering 
the sallies of the boarders whom they met, a few of the more 
favored being invited to the clam-bake. 

There was an humble dwelling, a short distance from 
the Point, a prominent high projection of rock jutting out 
into the sea. Biddy Finnigan had scraped up an acquaint- 
ance with Mrs. McCarty, the proprietor of the cottage, who 
allowed her the privilege of boiling the ham there. 

Handing Biddy the things, Jerusha Ann informed her 
friends that music was now in order, and ever3^body was 
expected to take part in the singing. 

The “Fisherman’s Chorus,” from the opera of “ Mas- 
sinello,” was sung, and the mingling voices borne on the 
waves, were given back in an echo from the high jutting 
rocks above. 

Song followed song ; now a solo, then a duet ; the 
weird responses like the mimic voice of a mermaid, sending 
back the melody in broken cadences, and holding the singers 
in a spell of enchantment. 

The clam-bake is ready now. Miss Jerusha, if the 
ladies an’ jintlemen is hungry ^enough,” announced Miss 
Weathersby ’s maid. 

Turning round they beheld a snow-white table cloth 
spread on the table rock and a big lay-out, which Mr. Gaston 


OE, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


]73 


declared excelled Delmonico’s best efforts. A boiled 
ham, just done to a turn, and garnished with bread crumbs, 
crisped to a russet brown, occupied the post of honor ; snow 
white clam shells filled with cherries and blackberries ; fresh 
butter glowing in golden tints, reposing on green cabbage 
leaves ; pyramids of bread and crackers, plates, knives and 
forks, sugar, a can of cream and the proper accessories 
for the delicious coffee, whose savory smell, whetted the 
appetites of the hungry guests. 

Tin cups made up the deficiency of crockery-ware ; 
crackers served as plates, and the horn-handled knives and 
forks and new tin spoons were passed around in neighborly 
fashion, while many a joke and jest filled up the pauses in 
the conversation. The salt sea breeze blowing over the 
promontary gave an appetite to the feasters, which told upon 
the goodly spread of edibles. 

Biddy Finnigan built a fire of brambles, upon which 
the grid-iron, filled with oysters just out of their beds, held 
the delicious bivalves, until the crackling flames made them 
open their mouths, when they were dumped by means of a 
pronged stick, on to each guest’s plate, and a new relay 
replaced on the crackling brambles to be similarly dished 
sans ceremonie when cooked. 

They all had such a jolly time that it was decided 
to camp out to tea. 

Phil McCarty rounded in his little sloop in the after- 
noon, and left some of his cargo of oysters and lobsters 
with his wife, while he took the company" out for a sail on 
the sea. When they returned, Biddy had supper ready, 
half a dozen lobsters, roasted on the live wood embers, 
being added to the feast. Jerusha Ann asked the company 
if they had ever heard the ancient fish story about Pat 
and the lobster. 


174 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


“No, let us have it,” said Eva Gaston. 

‘‘Pat had just landed, and not having a sixpence in his 
pocket to buy his dinner ; he took a stroll through Ful- 
ton Market, New York, followed by his little dog; he 
sauntered along till he came to a fish- stand, on which a 
lot of live lobsters were sprawling. Eyeing the fish, with eyes 
and mouth wide open with astonishment, Pat asked the 
dealer : 

“ ‘What is thim, sur? ’ 

“ ‘Ah, these are fish.’ 

“ ‘Fish ! Do ye tell me thim is fish or are ye jokin’ ?’ 

‘“No, Pm not joking, these are the friendliest fish in 
the world. Don’t you see they want to shake hands with you. 
Put in your hand and shake hands with them,’ urged the 
fish dealer. 

“ ‘Begorr, I’m a little afeered, sur, but if ye have 
no objections, I’d loike to thry me dog’s tail first.’ 

“‘Well, try your dog’s tail then.’ 

“A crowd of interested spectators had gathered around 
the fish' stand to see the fun. 

“ Pat stooped down, lifted his little dog onto the table, 
and cautiously placed the tip of his tail into the open claw 
of the finest lobster on the stand.” 

“No sooner did the lobster feel the tail in his tentacles, 
than he closed his claws and the dog jumped from the stand, 
scampering home and dragging the lobster with him. See- 
ing the turn the joke was taking, the fish vender called out : 

“ ‘Oh Pat, Pat, whistle for your dog.’ 

“ ‘Arrah, whistle for yer fish, sur,’ was Pat’s reply, as 
he trotted home to his dinner of lobster. ” 

Tales of wonderful fishing and racy incidents followed 
Jerusha Weathersby’s story, and the party lingered by the 
sea till the moon’s silver sheen lit up the sparkling waves, 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


175 


and the light-house and Government Marine Observator}^, 
when they returned to Oyster Bay chanting songs all along 
the route. 

Miss Jerusha WeatherSby’s clam-bake was declared a 
grand success, and Jerusha Ann insisted that this clam-bake 
without any clams, was a proof that the play of Hamlet with 
Hamlet left out could be made as great a success, as when 
the Prince of Denmark varied the performance with solilo- 
quies and spiritual manifestations. 


176 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Fresh Arrivals. — Alphonse Fitzdoodledom^ the Dude., asks 
Miss Weathersby to Mend His Glove. — Mrs. Weathersby 
Picking out Matrimonial Catches. 

Seated on a camp-chair next to Mrs. Fitzdoodledom, 
Mrs. Weathersby was discussing the eligible matrimonial 
catches that the steamer puffing in the offing was expected to 
bring to Oyster Bay. 

♦ ‘‘A baron, did you say, a real, live nobleman. Never 
saw one in my life. Jerusha, do you hear that?” Mrs. 
Weathersby contemplated her daughter with mingled feelings 
of maternal pride and expectancy, 

“Only a baron, I reckon he’ll do to begin on, maw, but 
I mean to fly my kite higher,” replied Jerusha Ann as she 
poked the sand with her ivory-handled parasol. 

“Not one young lady in a thousand, my dear Miss 
Weathersby, is fortunate enough to catch a baron for a hus- 
band,” said Mrs. Fitzdoodledom knitting her brows re- 
provingly. 

“I am glad there are nine hundred and ninety-nine 
lucky girls, then, that miss the infliction,” answered Jerusha 
Ann. 

Mr. Gaston came up in time to hear this remark. 

“Who are the lucky girls you are speaking about, Miss 
Weathersby?” he asked, lounging on the sand as he took 
the place next to Jerusha. 

“Oh the fast, diminishing American girls, with sense 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


177 


enough to refuse foreign-titled boobies the privilege of spend- 
ing their father’s hard-earned dimes.” 

Mr. Gaston observed to his wife who was seated near 
him ; ‘‘I say, Matty, didn’t I guess right? ” 

The boat hove to and the passengers began to come 
ashore on the gang-plank. 

Pointing with her parasol to an individual with mutton- 
chop whiskers and waxed goatee, who had taken off his hat 
and was bowing to a group of ladies as he stepped on shore, 
Jerusha said : 

“I wonder who that puffy old gent, that keeps a skating 
rink for flies on top of his head, is? ” 

Mrs. Fitzdoodledom scowled and held a controversy with 
Mrs. Weathersby concerning the terrible conduct of her 
daughter. 

The puffy old gentleman approached and greeted Mrs. 
Fitzdoodledom, complimenting her upon her appearance. She 
introduced him to Mrs. Weathersby, and they entered into 
conversation. 

As the tide began to come in, Jerusha and her friend 
Eva repaired to the bath-house, where their maids had 
brought their bathing- suits, and soon after they were 
dashing in the briny waves like mermaids. 

There was a rush for the bath-houses, and soon the 
group of loiterers, dressed in their flannel suits, were sport- 
ing in the ocean, the white-crested breakers tumbling and 
tossing them in every direction. A gay and happy crowd ; 
they splashed water on each other, dived, ducked and 
floated on their backs, playing pranks in the water till the 
receding waves told that the tide was ebbing, when they 
rushed pell-mell for shore again. 

Mr. Gaston brought the ladies of his party up to where an 
awning was spread to shield them from the hot rays of the 


178 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

sun, and when they were seated under it, a young man ap- 
proached whose features looked familiar to Jerusha Ann. 
He was dressed in a light fawn-colored suit — hat, coat, vest 
pantaloons, all of the same shade ; his pantaloons fitted 
him so tight it was impossible for him to bend in them. 
Taking a gold-rimmed eye-glass out of his vest-pocket, he 
gazed at the ladies under the awning. 

“Arrah, will ye look at Phonsy Fitzdoodledom wid his 
clothes on him as nate as pins in a paper,’’ exclaimed Biddy 
Fiimigan. 

“Aw, found you at last. How do-do, Miss Weathers- 
by?” extending the tips of his gloved fingers as he spoke, 
Alphonse Fitzdoodledom greeted his old acquaintance. 

Jerusha introduced him to her friends, and he was 
invited to take a seat W’th them, but he declined, saying he 
wanted to see the boat put out from shore. 

“ Biddy Finnigan knew you long before I did,” said 
Jerusha. 

“Aw! How de-doo, Bridget, it must be refreshing 
to hear Bridget’s fwesh remarks about things,” observed 
Alphonso. 

They all stood up to watch the out-going steam- 
boat. 

“She is a fine craft,” said Mr. Gaston. “Did you 
come on the morning boat, Mr. Fitzdoodledom? ” 

“Yes, I brought a friend I met in Yurup with me.” 
Turning to Biddy Finnigan, who, smarting under the cool 
reception given her by the boy she had so often shielded 
from the punishment due his boyish follies, had walked 
away after the greeting, and stood leaning against the awn- 
ing pole, Alphonse observed : 

“I suppose this is the first time you ever saw a steam- 
boat, Bridget? ” 




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OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


179 


“An’ did ye think I crossed the say in a coach an’ 
four, Masthur Alphonse?” replied Biddy. 

The dude was obliged to join in the laugh, at his own 
expense, that followed Biddy’s reply, and he ta ta’d his 
adieus soon after. 

“Well,” said Jerusha Ann, “I always knew Alphonse 
Fitzdoodledom was a booby, but I never thought he’d grow 
to be such a ninny, that he would let his tailor make his 
pants so tight, that he would have to be boiled down and 
poured into them.” 

In the afternoon, Mr. Alphonse Fitzdoodledom, who 
had discovered that his old playmate was the reigning belle 
and favored pet of society, and who had changed his first 
intention of merely keeping up a nodding acquaintance with 
her, upon learning these facts, called upon Miss Weathersby 
and indulged in a good deal of sentimental gush, winding 
up with the request that she would mend his glove, that he 
might cherish the thought of the fairy fingers that had clasp- 
ed his glove, every time he looked at his hands. 

“I’ll mend it for you. Leave it on the table there,” 
answered Jerusha. 

Taking the glove into Eva Gaston’s room, Jerusha 
borrowed a needle and thread, and repaired the ripped 
seam ; but, while they were arranging the sea shells gathered 
that morning, the girls failed to notice Gyp’s pranks, 
and the poodle swallowed Alphonse Fitzdoodledom’ s kid 
glove. 

Eva was alarmed for her favorite, and Jerusha sent for 
an emetic which she administered to the dog, that caused 
it to throw up the glove. Scarcely had she wiped it in the 
towel, when the dude, passing in the hall, asked for his 
glove. 

Jerusha handed it to him and he drew it on, kissing 


180 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

his gloved hand, declaring he would forever cherish it, for 
the sake of the dear one who had last pressed its pliant 
fingers. 

Eva Gaston buried her face in the pillow to smother the 
laugh, and Jerusha Ann bit her fan, as she smiled her 
thanks for the compliment paid to the poodle dog. 


OE, THAT EOMP OF A GIEL. 


181 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Baron Von Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld is Introduced to 
Miss Weather shy, — The Dude's Predicament, — Jerusha 

Ann Teaches the German Baron an Original Com- 
pliment, — ‘‘Dose Eyes! So Peautiful! So 
P right! De Glances from Your Eyes 
Make it Hell wherever You 
Go^ Miss," 

Eva Gaston’s cousin, Miss Martha Van Raenseller, 
(whose father had bequeathed her a million dollars ere he 
shuffled off his mortal coil) , arrived at Oyster Bay, and was 
of course an acknowledged belle. The dude transferred his 
attentions immediately to this wealthy heiress, but received 
very poor encouragement from the aristocratic knicker- 
bocker. 

Jerusha Ann, squatted on the sand, was endeavoring to 
build mud houses with her feet ; competing with Eva Gaston 
in building a mimic city by the sea, when the voice of 
Alphonse Fitzdoodledom arrested her attention. 

‘‘ Allow me to introduce my friend, Baron Von Schnip- 
fenschnupfenhuntdegeld, Miss Weathersby ! ” The puffy 
old gent, who was the proprietor of a skating rink for flies, 
bobbed his bald pate very low before Jerusha Ann, and 
repeated the operation to Miss Gaston. 

“You loaf de sea. Miss Vethasby?” remarked the 
Baron. 

“Oh, yes. That is all that keeps us alive here. We 


182 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

are living on a diet of sea breezes and clam shells. So I 
rather hanker after old Father Neptune.” 

“Miss Gaston, I hoap ees veil.” 

“Very well, thank you!” answered the young lady 
addressed. 

There was a pause in the conversation. Finding the 
Baron’s conversational powers rather limited, Jerusha Ann 
endeavored to help him out. 

“If you are any good at making mud houses or pies, 
you can squat down here with us and try your hand.” 

“ So sample, you younge ladies charm ze heart, by de 
innocence off de child.” The Baron stretched himself on 
the sand near ^Vliss Weathersby. 

Eva Gaston pointed out a spot for Alphonse Fitzdoodle- 
dom beside her. He stooped down to take it, when a 
ripping-tearing noise was heard. 

Jerusha Ann beheld the catastrophy (the dude had 
torn his pantaloons in the sitting down place) , and with 
genuine good nature diverted attention from the young man’s 
misfortune. 

“Look, Eva, this is the court-house. Can you make 
one like it? You are not making much headway, Baron Von 
Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld. Some folks spend their 
time building castles in the air, but we erect villages in the 
sand, while old Tempus is fugiting. ” 

Mr. Gaston came after Eva, and the Baron gave his 
arm to Miss Weathersby. 

“Alphonse, I leave you to watch that nobody disturbs 
my houses while I am gone.” Jerusha Ann gave her old 
playmate an excuse for remaining behind, as she took a 
promenade with the German Baron. Not till the revellers by 
the sea were locked in the embraces of Morpheus, did the 
dude dare to leave his place. He was obliged to obtain the 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 183 

assistance of his mamma, ere he could again make his 
appearance. 

‘‘You have de goot hard, Mees Vethasby. Vill you 
tells me a nice compliment to pay a lady’s eyes? ” said the 
Baron. 

“Well that depends upon the style of the young lady, 
and the intensity of your feelings. If the young lady has 
black sparkling eyes, it would be quite an original idea to 
say : ‘The glances from your eyes make a hell wherever 
you go. Miss.’ Hell in English signifies a place where the 
sparks are so lively, that it is pretty bright there all the 
time. We take it from the Greek : Hellenic, signifying light, 
you know. Hell is a word used in common conversation 
every day.’ 

Several times the Baron repeated the words over, until 
he mastered this unique compliment. 

“Vat you call de fever dat comes in de zummer? I 
was so sick wen I came here first, mit it. De billiard fever, 
you say it. Dis sea preeses is so goot for de billiard fever,” 
remarked the Baron. 

“Oh, yes. I can readily see you are subject to the 
billiard fever. There ! Don’t you hear the music ! We 
are to have a grand hop to-night. Let us return to the 
house. I must change my attire ! ” Jerusha Ann left her 
escort at the foot of the stairs, and under the care of Biddy 
Finnigan, was arrayed in a dazzling ball costume of white 
fleecy India mull, with coral ornaments and sea shells. 

She was surrounded by a crowd of admirers and danced 
with hearty enjoyment. 

Seated in an alcove, partaking of an ice between the 
dances, Jerusha Ann overheard Baron Von Schnipfenschnup- 
fenhuntdegeld, as he fanned Miss Van Raenseller, say with 
great impressiveness : 


184 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

“Ah! Dose eyes! So peautiful! So pright! De 
glances from your eyes make it hell wherever you go, Miss/’ 

“Give me my fan, sir, and never dare to speak to me 
again ! ” The indignant Miss Van Raenseller, her eyes 
flashing fire, swept her train passed Jerusha Ann as she 
marched into the other parlor. 

Mr. Van Raenseller, her brother, came forward to 
claim Miss Weathersby as his partner, and Jerusha Ann 
told him of the compliment she had taught Baron Von 
Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld to pay to a lady’s eyes, so 
that she might be held responsible for any offense her tutor- 
ship might occasion. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


185 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Mrs, Weather shy Engages Her Daughter to Marry Baron 
Von Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld, — The Grandest 
Wedding of the Season. — Jerusha Ann Teaches 
Foreign Titled Paupers,, that Some Ameri- 
can Heiresses take Stock in Common 
Sense. 

It was in vain to protest against Mrs. Weathersby’s 
arrangements. Baron Von Schnipfenschnupfenbuntdegeld, 
had proposed for the hand of her daughter, and Mrs. 
Weather sby was determined to become the mother-in-law of 
a real live lord, despite the expressed dislike of her daughter 
to the match. 

Jerusha Ann made no concealment of her sentiments to 
the noble Baron, she frankly told him she didn’t love him 
and was not impressed with sentiments of esteem towards 
him, even hinting that she had a preference for another ; all 
to no purpose. These objections were regarded as nothing 
but the ordinary circumstances of marriage in high life. 
Mrs. Weathersby had accepted the Baron’s suit, and that 
was all sufficient. 

And now, Jerusha Ann astonished everybody by her 
perfect acquiescence in her mother’s plans. 

She took a trip to New York ; selected an elegant point 
lace veil and white satin wedding dress, stipulating with 
the dressmaker, that she should have a large strong pocket 


186 BIDDY FINNiaAN^S BOTHERATION; 

in her wedding dress, and allowing carte blanche for the 
rest of the trousseau. 

After the engagement, Miss Weathersby never allowed 
the noble Baron to enjoy her society save in company with 
her mother, and the gossips began to wag their tongues 
concerning this eccentric freak of the bride elect, as the 
handsome barouche drove by, everj^ afternoon, containing 
the Baron and Mrs. Weathersby on the front seat, and the 
affiance on the back seat, wearing an expression of resigna- 
tion on her features. 

The only time Jerusha Ann displayed any emotion was 
when her father arrived. Throwing her arms around his 
neck, Jerusha wept and declared no foreign nobleman could 
ever hold the place in her affections that he did. Sam 
Weathersby was closeted with his daughter in consultation 
all day, and it was noticed that Jerusha Ann appeared more 
cheerful in the evening, as she took her accustomed 
drive. 

The wedding day arrived. Eva Gaston was to act as 
bridesmaid and Alphonse Fitzdoodledom as groomsman. 

The little church at Oyster Bay was decorated with 
trailing smilax and a marriage bell of tube roses. The 
rarest exotics adorned the chancel rail ; costly carpets were 
spread in the aisles, and a trained choir of skillful musicians 
was engaged to perform suitable music. 

All of the guests at Oyster Bay had been invited to 
witness the ceremony, and a jam was expected. 

Jerusha Ann was being robed for the great occasion, 
her maid Biddy Finnigan shedding copious tears as she 
dressed the bride. 

“I wish you’d stop that crying, Biddy ; this is no time 
for weeping,” said Mrs. Weathersby. 

“Arrah, why wouldn’t 1 cry to see me darlin’ Miss 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


187 


Jerusha goin’ to be tied to that owld coddled gooseberry, 
wid two eyes in his head like a dead codfish.” 

The bride laughed ; but her mother reproved the maid, 
and expostulated with her, admonishing her to remember 
that Boron Von Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld was a very 
high dignitary of the German Empire, and was possessed of 
a grand castle and estate in Germany, besides being a gentle- 
man of distinguished presence and a noble head: 

“He has a foine head for scratchin’ ; divil a hair to 
hindhur his fingers raddlin^ over it !” was Biddy Finnigan’s 
comment, as she fastened on the bridal veil, beneath the 
wreath of orange blossoms. 

A vast concourse of distinguished guests, society people 
and the native inhabitants of the place, assembled within 
the church to witness the grand wedding. 

The bridal party entered the church ; the bride leaning 
upon the arm of her father ; the groom following, with Mrs. 
Weathersby ; Eva Gaston and the dude finishing the bridal 
procession. 

Not a single jewel was worn by the lovely bride, who 
looked sparklingly happy and even mirthful, as she took her 
place by the chancel railing. 

Attired in a military suit, his breast adorned with 
crosses, ribbons and stars, the groom looked his best, as he 
stood beside his betrothed. 

The grand music ceased. The minister came forward, 
and asked “Who giveth this woman in marriage? ” 

“I do,” responded Sam Weathersby. 

The ceremony proceeded. Eva Gaston removed the 
glove from the bride’s left hand, as the Baron produced the 
wedding ring. 

The minister asked : “Heinrick Von Schnipfenschnup- 
fenhuntdegeld will you take Jerusha Ann Weathersby, this 


188 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

woman here present, to be your lawful wife, in sickness, in 
health, till death do ye part? ” 

“I will,’’ answered the Baron in loud tones. 

“Jerusha Ann Weathersby will you take Heinrick Von 
Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld for your lawful husband, to 
have and to hold, till death do ye part? ” 

No response from the bride. Taking a few bags of 
coins out of her pocket, each bag bearing the inscription : 
$500,000.00, the bride placed them on the chancel rail before 
her. 

Again the minister asked: “Will you take this man 
for your husband? ” 

Poking the money bags with her ivory fan, Jerusha 
said : 

“Answer! Why don’t you answer! Baron Von 
Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld is marrying Dad’s money. 
You’ll have to get your answer from these money bags. I 
am too small a potato to have any voice in this marriage. 
Answer the preacher !” poking the bags and spilling the 
coins, she continued to ask them to give their consent to the 
marriage. 

Baron Von Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld cleared the 
chancel railing in one spring, and made his exit from that 
church with speed that would shame a race horse. 

Sam Weathersby invited all present to a grand ban- 
quet at Admiral Fox’s. 

Delmonico furnished the repast in grand style. 

Jerusha Ann cut the bride’s cake and distributed it to 
her guests, the merriest girl in the whole assembly ; while 
her father explained, that having discovered that Baron Von 
Schnipfenschnupfenhuntdegeld had entered into this marriage 
with an American heiress, for the sole purpose of raising 
funds to pay his gambling debts, he had consented to his 



“ Why don’t you answer? Baron Vonschnipfenschnupfen- 
huntedegeld is marrying Dad’s money-bags. Answer the 
preacher, money-bags.” 


1188] 



OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


189 


daughter’s plan of teaching titled paupers that American 
girls had sense enough to see through their baseness. 

Mrs. Weathersby and her friend Mrs. Fitzdoodledom 
were the only unhappy mortals present at the wedding feast, 
and Jerusha Ann’s mother secretly resolved to let her way- 
ward daughter arrange her matrimonial affairs herself in 
future* 


190 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION ; ^ 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Jerusha Ann Becomes the Belle of the Season, — Return- 
ing from Oyster Bay, — Biddy Finnigan and Her 
Moving Caravansary Struck by a Cyclone, 

The Weathersbjs concluded to return home from the 
sea side. Ever since the grand wedding farce, Jerusha Ann 
became such an object of curiosity, that every day groups 
of new arrivals came by the steamer to Oyster Bay, whose 
special mission was to see that American girl, who had 
refused to marry a live Baron. 

The hotel accommodations were not sufficient to 
accommodate the arrivals, and the admiration of such a 
number of strange people, became annoying at last, to the 
heroine of the matrimonial comedy. 

“That gal of mine can count on her dad to help her 
out of any scrape, dame Fashion induces ber mother to con- 
sent to,’’ was Sam Weathersby’s remark to Mr. Gaston, as 
he bade good-bye on the boat, to his daughter’s aristocratic 
friend, and Mr. Gaston no longer wondered where Miss 
Weathersby got her independent spirit. 

Ten proposals of marriage Jerusha Ann received in as 
many days following her wedding, that was no wedding day, 
and she wrote home to her pa, telling of the number of 
conquests she had made, and asking leave to return home, 
to Mudville, to avoid the siege of admiring swains. 

Sam Weathersby wrote his wife to make preparations 
for an immediate return and enclosed a check to pay all 
expenses. 


OE, THAT EOMP OF A GIRL. 


191 


“Aw ! It’s too dwedfully dwedful to think of leaving 
just now, 3"ou know, mamma, when the season is just begin- 
ning,” objected Alphonse Fitzdoodledom to his mamma’s 
entreaties. 

“Don’t hasten your departure on our account Mrs. 
Fitzdoodledom. We can find our way home, and pa will 
meet us at New York,” interposed Jerusha Ann as they 
held a consultation on the subject of returning to Mudville 
together. 

“My dear, Miss Weathersby, Mr. Fitzdoodledom would 
never forgive me for deserting his most cherished friends, 
my dear, which you know your family has always been 
regarded by us, my dear ; but I really do not know what to 
do for a nurse girl, Zelinda left yesterday, and I have no one 
to carry the baby.” 

“I’ll carry Horatio, the darlin’ baby. Shure, I’ll not 
feel the weight of him, mam, an’ it’s only half a mile to the 
landin’,” proffered the good-natured domestic. 

Mrs. Fitzdoodledom accepted Biddy’s services, and the 
party arrangements for returning together were concluded. 

Alphonse Fitzdoodledom and his mother, and Mrs. 
Weathersby and her daughter, got into the carriage to 
drive to the landing. 

The clouds were lowering and a storm threatened, so 
Biddy Finnigan, with a raised umbrella over her head, was 
sent on in advance with the baby. 

“Musha ! Bad cess to the skinfiint uv a landlord ; the 
divil a crumb uv our provisions will I lave him,” was 
Biddy’s resolution as she prepared for the journey. Five 
pounds of candles, a quantity of loaf sugar, butter, crackers 
and eggs, remained of the extra provisions, these she packed 
into the huge market basket ; and her old bathing dress, 
which in a spirit of economy, she declared would make 


192 


BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 


elegant scrubbing clothes, suspended from the curved 
handle of the umbrella, whose stick served as a support for 
the coffee pot, tin cups and pans, remaining from the clam- 
bake. Biddy Finnigan started on her journey, with the 
baby on her right arm, the basket of things on her left, and 
the umbrella grasped in her hand. 

“Oh, the little popsy wopsy, hokey pokey, the topsy 
woatsy, was he hittin’ his little toesey woesey against his 
Biddy?” endeavoring to calm the excited feelings of Horatio 
Fitzdoodledom, junior, Biddy Finnigan poured forth an 
eloquent flow of baby talk, both conciliatory and complimen- 
tary ; yet the junior member of the Fitzdoodledom family 
was not disposed to receive these kindly overtures in a 
proper spirit. 

He planted his toesey woesey s in Biddy’s stomach, and 
pitched and tossed as only a bad-tempered baby can ; every 
plunge of the infant, dashing a candle, or tin cup, or sugar- 
lumps out of the over-filled basket. 

The lowering clouds massed themselves, the wind began 
to blow a perfect gale, and down came the rain in torrents. 

Biddy Finnigan struck by a cyclone was in a sad 
plight ; a gust of wind turned her umbrella inside out, still 
she clung to the handle ; her bonnet was blown off her head 
and kept fluttering in the breeze suspended by the strings ; 
the old bathing dress became inflated and bobbed about ; 
the egg’s cracking and smashing, besmeared her garments ; 
the cooking utensils were scattered by the wind in all direc- 
tions, and the butter, crackers, sugar and candles, whisked 
out of the basket ; divided the labor with the broken eggs, 
in marking the path she had traversed, while the sprawling 
baby, alarmed by the general commotion, planted his feet 
in her stomach, straightening his body at an angle of forty- 
five degrees, and gave utterance to ear-splitting yells. 


r 






“ Musba I Bad scran to ye, ye ugly little bag o’ spite I I wish 
ye had the half o’ yer toes cut oft; like yer brother Alphonse, an’ 
then ye couldn’t be churnin’ the insides o’ me into butthurmilk, 
the way ye are doin’ I ” 


193 ] 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 193 

“Musha! Bad scran to 3’e. Ye ugly little bag o’ 
spite. I wish ye had the half o’ yer toes cut off, like yer 
brother Alphonse, an’ thin ye couldn’t be churnin’ the 
insides o* me into butthurmilk, the way ye are doin’. Ye 
have the stringth uv an ox, an’ the lungs uv a Bengal tiger ; 
an’-thim proddin’ feet o’ yours is aqual to a hawk’s talons. 
Ye squalin’ brat ! I’ll go bail, I’ll never take ye in me arms 
agin wid me own consint,” Venting forth baby talk of a 
different character, Biddy, with her charge dripping wet, 
arrived at her destination at last, and was roundly scolded 
by Mrs. Fitzdoodledom, for letting the baby get wet. 

‘‘Why, Bridget! What made }^ou let my precious 
baby get wet. I would not have trusted mamma’s sweetest 
sugar plum to you, if I thought you would have neglected 
him so.” Mrs. Fitzdoodledom kissed the wet infant vigor- 
ously, as she reprimanded Biddy Finnigan. 

“ Neglected him ! Is that what yer sayin’ to me, ma’am, 
afthur the thievin’ young villian had like to make an anatomy 
uv me ; proddin’ his two feet like a pair o’ churn dashers, 
into me middle ; an’ I strivin’ to pacify him wid sootherin’ 
talk ; an’ me bonnet flyin’ to the four winds, an’ me umbrella 
smashed to smithereens, an’ it not rainin’ at all, at all ; but 
the wathur powrin’ down, as if the bottom fell out o’ the 
sky. In throth ye may thank yer stars that his four bones is 
together, so ye may ; for in all me born da^^s I never seen 
such a wind, I had like to be fiitthured to pieces myself wid 
the gale.” 

Jerusta Ann endeavoring to pour oil on the troubled 
waters, sought to divert Biddy Finnigan’s attention, by 
questioning her regarding the storm. 

“ Did you never see a cyclone, Biddy, before? ” 

“ What’s that, Miss?” 

“ A cyclone, that’s what they call the wind. ” 


194 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

“In throth thin, it wasn’t a sigh alone, but forty mil- 
lions uv sighs an’ groans gathered together, so it was. 
Wurse nor the keenin’ o’ the fairies, whin they do be a moanin’ 
through the stone pipes o’ Fingal’s Cave, playin’ the organ, 
uv a windy night; an’ shure, they say the lonesome music ’id 
make yer flesh creep on yer bones, if ye wor to hear it ; 
an’ it’s many is the flsherman that lost his life listinin’ to it 
(God help us).” 

Biddy’s indignation cooled down as she pondered on 
the fate of the brave fishermen, who had paid the forfeit of 
their lives for listening to the grand “ Miserere,” chanted 
by the surging billows of the Atlantic, striking the chords of 
weird harmony, on the vast basaltic columns of Fingal’sCave. 

The poetic conception of the fairies’ keen, a funeral dirge 
of invisible spirits, playing solemn music on the keyboard 
of the rock bound coast, charmed Biddy Finnigan’s young 
mistress, who remarked : 

“ Oh ! Our cyclones can not aspire to such an exalted 
dignity as your Irish storms, Biddy. Nor have they the 
graceful excuse of a fairies’ funeral, for their coming.” 

“ Ah, thin, what are they. Miss Jerusha?” 

“ Now, you place me in a quandary to reply, as Miss 
Minerva Sawyer, would say ; but it is generally believed 
meteoric disturbances, charged with electricity, cause the 
cyclone ; or in other words, it is the lightning and wind 
that is the origin of the trouble.” 

“ An’ why does the people let thim be made. Miss? ” 

“ If you can suggest a remedy, you will be the greatest 
benefactor to science this century has produced” Jerusha 
Ann pulled on her linen duster, as Biddy contributed her 
original theory regarding meteoric science. 

“Bedad, that’s aisy enough, all ye have to do is to 
stop the lad that fetches ’em.” 


OE, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


195 


“ Very true and laconic, but how shall we find that lad ? ’’ 

“ Begor, he’s not lost; but ye can meet him goin’ the 
road every step ye turn, as consayted an’ bowld, howldin’ up 
his head as if he was cock o’ the walk.” 

Even the dude relaxed his dignity, and bent forward in 
his seat to catch Biddy Finnigan’s replies, and the occu- 
pants of the Pullman Palace car eagerly listened to the 
debate. 

“ Who is this perambulating manufacturer of cyclones, 
Biddy? I have never met him, yet, he seems to be on famil- 
iar terms with you. How did you become acquainted with 
him? ” Jerusha Ann Weathersby placed her traveling-bag, 
in the rack and took her seat, while Biddy arranged the 
lunch basket and things in place, as she settled herself in a 
seat before replying : 

“ Faith, thin, it wasn’t fur the civility o’ biddin’ the 
time o’ day, or a God spare ye, that made huz acquainted ; 
fur they do be say in’ in owld Ireland : ‘It’s time enough to 
bid the divil good morra, whin ye meet him’ ; but in the 
matthur o’ knowin’ the maker o’ thim rows, wid thundhur 
an’ lightnin’, an’ the wind, a body would have to be stone 
blind not to see the inimy o’ pace an’ quietness, thravelin’ 
the road in Amerikay.” 

“Don’t keep me in suspense any longer, Biddy, I am 
dying to know who it is? ” 

“ An’ who else would it be, but thim telegraph poles, 
wid the wires stretchin’ over thim. Shure, didn’t I see it 
meeself, wid me own two eyes, dhrawin’ the lightnin’ out 
o’ the sky ; an’ where’s the wondhur, shure it isn’t nathural 
to see thim big white things loike barbers ghosts, stalkin’ 
over the land.” 

“ Ha — haw ! Your head is level on that subject, I wish 
you cbuld convert some of those fellows in Congress, to 


196 BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHERATION; 

your way of thinking.” A Milwaukee man sitting in the 
seat behind Biddy Finnigan, gave expression to his opinions, 
and the maiden from the Emerald Isle, turned round and 
addressed him : 

‘‘Musha! It’s the thruth I’m tellin’, sur ; an’ shure, 
the knowledge uv it is soaked into me, wid the wettin’ I got 
this mornin’ ; for as I was sayin’, thim tall white ghosts o’ 
poles shtanin’ out isn’t nathural ; they’d frighten a body out 
uv a year’s growth, an’ it’s not surprisin’ that they’d make 
the lightnin’ or the wind unaisy in their mind, which road 
to take ; until everything ’id be turned topsy-turvy, an’ me 
poor bonnet smashed into a cocked hat, an’ me illigant 
umbrella batthured to pieces, not mintionin’ the five pound 
o’ mowld candles, an’ three pound o’ butthur, an’ eggs galore 
that’s spilt on the road. Oh, dear! what’ll I do at all, at 
all, for me beautiful bonnet?” 

‘‘Sue the telegraph company for damages, and I’ll go 
security for the costs. I have not forgotten the Newhall 
horror yet,” replied the gentleman from Michigan. 

Biddy shook her head despondently, as she gazed at 
her mutilated millinery. 

“ Arrah ! Where’s the use o’ suin’ the divil, an’ the 
court held in hell, sur?” 

“ Tickets I ” The conductor’s cry put a stop to the con- 
versation, as the male passengers dived into their pockets, and 
the ladies turned every basket and satchel inside out, in 
quest of their missing tickets, as usual finding them in their 
pocket-books, at last. 





“ Let us pray that more sinners may seek the mourner’s bench. 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIBL. 


197 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Deacon Smithers' Revivals. — Jerusha Ann Weathersby 

Tries a New Plan of Making Sinners Seek the 
Mourners’ Bench. 

A GRAND revival and series of protracted prayer meet- 
ings drew large audiences to Deacon Smithers’ church. 

Exhorters of renown held forth at Bethel church, draw- 
ing listeners from the rural districts, and the church was 
crowded daily ; many sinners being converted. 

Jack Carson was a regular attendant at the services, 
though some folks hinted that the choir had more attraction 
for him than the pulpit eloquence. 

Jerusha Ann behaved herself with great propriety 
the first day, but as the same routine of preaching and pray- 
ing followed alternately, she became tired of the monotony. 

Carrying a very strong spool of thread in her pocket, 
Jerusha Ann determined to try her hand at leading sinners 
to repentance. 

After the opening hymn was sung, on the second day, 
Jerusha descended the stairs and went into the field adjoin- 
ing the church. This field abounded in the festive grass- 
hopper. Jerusha Ann’s white muslin dress was a trap to 
them. She filled a paper bag with the bouncing insects, 
tied the end of the spool of thread around the shoulders of 
the strongest, and returned to the choir. 

Quietly taking a view of the congregation, she beheld 
a countryman, with a very loose coat on, who had brought 


198 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

his women folks to the meeting, and having taken a back 
seat, had settled himself for a quiet nap. 

The exhorter finished his discourse by inviting all 
sinners, who felt the spirit moving them, to come forward 
and take seats on the mourners’ bench. 

“ Haw — ch ! a — u — c — h ! auch ! ” the deep respiration 
of sleep came from the countryman, whose head bobbed 
lower and lower at each respiration. Jerusha Ann put out 
her tow line, and landed the grasshopper on the open space 
on the back of his neck. Hopping on his ear and into his 
hair, that grasshopper made things lively. 

Starting from his seat and gesticulating wildly, the 
countryman gave expression to his feelings by ejaculating : 

“ Lord sakes alive ! What is it? ” 

Supposing the man had got religion the ushers hustled 
him forward, and placed him on the mourners’ bench, to be 
prayed for. 

Before the prayer was ended, that was offered up for 
this lost sheep that had returned to the fold, the same grass- 
hopper, lowered by Jerusha Ann, had settled in an old lady’s 
ear. She sprang up, clapped her hands wildly to her head 
and yelled : 

‘‘ Lord a massy ! ” Two men seized her and bore her 
to the mourners’ bench. 

“ Let us pray that many more sinners may follow the 
example of Seth Jarvis and Mrs. Jessup, who, acknowledging 
the sinfulness of their ways, have sought reconciliation on 
the mourners’ bench.” Ere Deacon Smithers had finished his 
remarks, three persons in the back part of the church were 
scratching and clawing, giving expression to their feelings by 
excited ejaculations. These people were placed on the 
mourners’ bench. 

The singing of a hymn by the choir caused a lull in 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


199 


the conversions. When it was finished, Jerusha Ann, fear- 
ing that the locality of the late conversions might excite 
suspicion, changed her tactics. 

She opened her bag and let the supply of grasshoppers 
loose. 

Such jumping and scratching was never before witnessed 
in a sacred edifice. The mourners’ bench couldn’t hold 
the hysterical converts who hopped about. 

When Jerusha Ann beheld Jack Carson, sprawling and 
twitching, led up to the mourners’ bench, it was too much 
for her ; she was obliged to retire behind the organ to give 
way to her sentiments. 

But when the last exhorter got into the pulpit to make 
a last rousing appeal to sinners to join the church, he had 
not proceeded as far as the soldier whose pocket bible 
turned the bullet that would have pierced his heart, when 
the exhorter himself began prancing about in the pulpit, 
diving to the left and to the right in a most undignified 
manner, retiring precipitately into the sanctuary. 

Preacher Brooks had no sooner disappeared, than 
Preacher Wilson was attacked with the symptoms of the 
converts, who had been promoted to the mourners’ bench. 

This unusual manifestation caused astonishment among 
the church members, and when Deacon Smithers himself 
began to hop around, there was an investigation into the 
cause of this singular performance. 

The cause remained a mystery, but the service was 
brought to a close by the singing of a hymn, and forty new 
members were registered in the church registry. 


200 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHEEATION; 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Rambling in the Woods, — Pontons Discovery, — That 
Romp of a Girl has Compassion on 
the Unfortunate. 

The day was very warm. An August sun poured its 
scorching rays upon the baked streets, blistering the feet of 
the thinly shod pedestrians, who promenaded along the 
heated sidewalks of the goodly city of Mudville. 

Jerusha Ann Weathersby, with a basket onherarmand 
a tin cup in her hand, sallied forth in quest of berries, plums, 
roots or herbs, that might please her fancy ; and with which 
the woods that lay north of Big river, abounded. 

It was such a day of noontide sunlight as made the 
cool recesses of the woods a thousand-fold more enticing, and 
Jerusha Ann sped on her way rejoicing ; her sole companion, 
Ponto, a large shaggy-coated Newfoundland dog, gam- 
boling in delight and frisking his tail as his paws pressed 
the green mossy sward, where now and then his mistress 
would stoop to pick up a spray of fragrant sweet brier, 
or a root of sassafras. 

Now the wild plums, growing in sunny spots tempted 
the maiden to leave the shadow of the woods ; but again the 
hot scorching rays would send her back to their protecting 
shade. Taking off her shoes and stockings Jerusha dabbled 
her feet in the waters of a murmuring brook, and was led 
on by the babbling waters to ramble along the stream. 

Here and there clusters of ferns bent their graceful 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


201 


forms to the water’s edge. Dragon flies spread their gauzy 
wings, as they darted after the tiny insects that hovered 
above the myriad blossoms that decked the banks of the 
stream, and Jerusha wandered on, for a couple of miles, 
without being aware of the distance. 

Suddenly, Ponto pricked up his ears, bent his nose to 
the earth and gave a grunt of displeasure. 

“ What is it, Ponto?” asked his mistress, but the dog 
only answered by poking his nose along close to the earth, 
pushing the leaves and brambles out of his path, as with 
tail erect, he scented some trail through the woods. Speed- 
ing onward, he was soon lost to sight. Jerusha Ann 
came out of the stream, and hastily putting on her shoes, 
followed the course of the dog. 

She had not proceeded far, when the yelping and 
whining of Ponto announced tha^t he had made a discovery, 
not of a very pleasant nature. 

Jerusha Ann hurried forward, and creeping down a 
steep embankment, she beheld Ponto bending over a man, 
whose feeble moans told he was suffering great pain. 

Approaching him she beheld a ghastly spectacle. Gap- 
ing wounds from which the blood trickled, and swarms of 
insects infesting his sores, the man lay mangled and uncon- 
scious on the grass. 

Tears of compassion flowed down her cheeks, as Jerusha 
Ann beheld the sad condition of the unfortunate sufferer. 
Bending over him, she asked : 

‘‘ What would you like ? ” 

The man opened his eyes and a gleam of joy flitted 
over his pale features, as he murmured : 

Water.” 

Returning to the stream, Jerusha fllled her tin cup with 
water, and carried it carefully to the poor sufferer. He 


202 


BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHERATION; 


drank it eagerly and asked for more. Several times she 
refilled the cup and succeeded in relieving the intense thirst 
he was suffering. Then she brought more water, and taking 
off her underskirt she tore it into strips, bathed the sufferer’s 
face and bound up his wounds, with the bandages thus 
hastily made. 

The man felt a little better and told her his story. He 
had been attacked while walking in the woods by a robber, 
and though wounded, was making the best of his way out, 
when in the darkness of night, not perceiving the embankment, 
he had missed his footing and was precipitated down the 
declivity, where he lay for two nights and a day, unable to 
move and beyond the reach of human sympathy ; until hope 
died within him, and he only longed for death to take him 
out of his misery. 

Wild and mischievous by nature, always ready to play 
tricks on every one at a moment’s notice, Jerusha Ann 
Weathersby was equally impetuous in deeds of kindness, 
when human suffering appealed to her sympathies. 

But a few weeks ago and she was busy catching grass- 
hoppers to cause a commotion in Bethel church ; new she 
longed to bring Deacon Smithers to pour the balm of con- 
solation on the troubled soul of this man, whose ejacula- 
tions gave evidence that his conscience was not at rest. 

Leaving Ponto to guard the wounded man, she made 
her way out to the public road, where she hoped to find 
some conveyance, that would take him into the city. 

The first vehicle she saw was a country wagon, occupied 
by a farmer and his son, who were returning home after dis- 
posing of a load of wheat in the town. The men returned 
with her to the ravine, and carried the wounded man out to 
their wagon. 

Jerusha Ann Weathersby got in and shielded the poor 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


203 


sufferer from the hot rays of the sun, by an ingenious 
arrangement of the remaining portion of her underskirt, 
which she fastened to the top of the wagon seat, holding 
the other end so as to make an awning of it. 

In this manner the wounded man was driven slowly 
into Mudville, and Jerusha Ann Weathersby gave food to 
the gossipers to guess what new mischief she was up to, as 
they beheld the wagon at the back gate. 

To the surprise of Mrs. Weathersby, a torn and bleed- 
ing man was brought into one of her spare bedrooms, by 
the order of her mischief-loving daughter. 

Caesar had been sent with a note for the Parson of 
Bethel Church ; on his return, he gave the result of his 
interview ; 

“ Clar to gracious ! Miss Jerusha ! I dun gone and like 
to died of shame, when de preacher, he say to me when I 
gubbed him de note what you gubbed me,” he say ; 

“Is this one of Miss Jerusha’s tricks, Caesar, or is it 
a case for ministerial ministrations?” was the communication 
of the coachman, regarding Deacon Smithers’ reception of 
ihe message he had been intrusted to deliver. 

“And what did yon answer, Caesar?” said Miss 
Jerusha. 

“Oh, I dun gone an' tole him de gemman whar upstairs, 
shoah nuff, and de doctors whar attendin’ him ; reckoned as 
how de extenuation ob de fever whar a risin’ in de serious 
bellows ob de top ob his head, Massa ; de t’other one he 
jined in de agnostications ob de case, an ’lowed ’twas de 
corporation ob de pistils in de blood, what gave de gemman 
all de trouble, and he said de vocal application ob leeches 
to de corporation whar de pistils was de wust, might help to 
’leave him, Sah ; but t’other, he was tolable sartin, dat 
whar not de true agnostications ob de case, and he absented 


204 BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 

from de opinion dat de trouble whar owin’ to de fightality 
bein’ too low ; an’ I tole Deacon Smithers I whar ob de 
same opinion wid de fust doctor, ’cause if de fightality ob 
de gemman had a bin moah punctuated, he would a fit de 
man what cut him, an so he might have saved hisself right 
smart.” 

“ I think your view of the case is the correct theory,” 
remarked Jerusha Ann. 

“ Dat am a fact. Miss Jerusha. I used to drive carriage 
for Dr. Scott long time, an’ I knows a heap o’ medicine, I 
does.” 

“ I have no doubt of it, Caesar. When did Deacon 
Smithers say he would come?”- 

He ’loud he’d be here in right smart of a hurry. 
Dar ! Shouldn’t wonder if dat war not de Deacon a ringin’ 
de doah bell. I’ll go and see.” Caesar answered the bell, 
and conducted Deacon Smithers up to the stranger’s room. 

In gentle tones the Deacon spoke to the sufferer, pictur- 
ing to him the mercy of the great Redeemer, and inspiring 
him with the hope of a blessed eternity. 

His gentle words and blessed promise soothed the suf- 
ferer, and he fell into a gentle slumber. 

Deacon Smithers joined the family, who had assembled 
in the parlor, to hold a consultation regarding the stranger. 

“It’s all very well to be charitable, but I don’t see 
the sense of giving one of our best rooms to a perfect 
stranger,” said Mrs. Weathersby. 

“What have you to say, Jerusha Ann?” asked the 
master of the household. 

“ This is what I think : If some high- cockalorum of a 
chap, with lots of cash in his pocket to pay his hotel bills 
were to come to Mudville, our house would be tendered to 
him, and nothing would be considered too expensive that ho 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 


v205 


might condescend to make use of. Here we have a man, 
who is hard up and in want of a friend. I vote for keeping 
him here till he gets well, on the principle of ‘ Put your 
money where it will do the most good.’ ” 

•‘Here he shall stay, daughter; you will never find 
your dad going back on you, Jerusha Ann, whenever you 
undertake to help the unfortunate.” 

Sam Weathersby’s decision settled the matter, and the 
stranger was kept and tenderly cared for by the fun-loving 
daughter. 

Every day, Jerusha sent Caesar after Deacon Smithers, 
to pray with* the sufferer ; and the visits of the parson 
seemed to be equally beneficial with those of the physi- 
cian. 

The stranger began to improve and his recovery was 
at last assured. 

One day, as Deacon Smithers returned from the bedside • 
of the sick man, he praised Jerusha Ann for her change of 
heart, as he could now see the Revivals had brought forth 
fruit and changed the most obstreperous member of Bethel 
church choir into a zealous missionary. 

“ Hold up! Deacon Smithers. You see, when I found 
that the narcotics administered by the doctors failed, I 
thought of how often I had seen the old ladies in the con- 
gregation fall into a sound slumber when you were preaching, 
and I thought if I could only get Deacon Smithers to preach 
to the sick man, it might put him to sleep ; and you see 
Mr. Stanley is getting quite well now, from the soporific 

effects of Jerusha Ann dodged the orange, which the 

Deacon tried to hit her with, as he left the house, laughing 
at the back-handed compliment he had received. 


206 


BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Biddy Finnigan finds a Relation, — Jack Carson invites 

Jerusha Ann Weather shy to Mickey Houghlahan’ s 
“ Great Moral Show^ Combinin* Historical 
Information wid Divarsion in an llligant 
Manner,'* 

Biddy Finnigan rushed into Jerusha Ann’s bedroom, 
her face all aglow with intense excitement. 

“Oh, Miss Jerushy, darlint, guess the news! Oh! Of 
all ye ever hear tell of, it’s the quarest thing and the won- 
dherfullest thing that ever happened.” 

“ Is the ocean run dry, Biddy, or have the dead been 
suddenly endued with life; what is the marvel?” Jerusha 
Ann stopped running her sewing machine, as she awaited a 
reply. 

“ Well, ye may say it, the dead cum to life. Here in 
this very town, right undhur me nose ye might say, for the 
last twelve-month, me own second cousin, Mickey Hough- 
lahan, has been livin’ an me not knowin’ a word uv it, only 
thinking he was dead this many a 3^ear ; for it’s how we hear 
tell he died o’ the yallah faver (God help us) many a year 
ago; an’ here he is alive an’ kickin’, an’ faix it’s meself 
that was ruz to see wan o’ me own people in a furrin land ; 
an’ shure, he was a wise man, that said : ‘ Frinds ’ll meet 
where mountains wont, me dear.’ ” 

“ That quotation is apt, Biddy. I shall be glad to 
make the acquaintance of your cousin. When do you 
expect to see him?” 


OB, THAT EOMP OF A GIBL. 


207 


“It’s with the show he is thravelin, Miss. He gave me 
a ticket to go to it to-night, an’ be the same token, Masthur 
Jack Carson is below stairs, an’ wants to see you ; an’ share 
I’m so flusthrificated wid the joy o’ seein’ me cousin that it 
wint clane out o’ me head, so it did.” Biddy went to her work 
as Jerusha Ann hurried down stairs to receive her visitor. 

“ Glad to see you. Jack. What’s the news? ” was the 
salutation Jack received. . 

“ Lots of news, Italian opera troupe coming to town, 
and a great moral show, presided over by Mickey Houghla- 
han, the Irishman — who upset the platform and the Honor- 
able Horatio Fitzdoodledom into the crowd on the first of 
April — now on exhibition at Concert Hall. Don’t you want 
to come and see it to-night ! Here is the programme ?” Jack 
Carson handed the bill to Jerusha, but she told him to read 
it aloud : 

“ Great Moral Show.” 

“A most beautiful and intertainin’ divarsion, combinin’ 
livin’ likenesses o’ dead charackthurs, notorious in histhory 
or mintioned in song ; wid illigant music between the acts. 
All for fifty cints. 

“That is, ladies and jintlemin will be charged fifty cints 
for gettin’ in, but the childhur is only half price, an’ fathers 
an’ mothers is recomminded to bring the childhur, fur the 
intertainment is uv that charackthur that combines instruc- 
tion suited to their tindhur years, wid divarsion an culture uv 
a more mature soart, not spakin’ o’ the foine music that is 
thrown in into the bargain.” 

“ Well, what do you say, Jerusha? Shall I engage 
seats for to-night?” asked Jack Carson, when he had 
finished reading the programme. 

“ By all means, I want to go to Mickey Houghlahan’s 
great moral show.” Jerusha Ann hurried her visitor off, 


208 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


telling him to be sure to call for her early, for she purposed 
wearing a gorgeous toilet on the occasion. 

Jack Carson kept his promise, and Jerusha Ann accom- 
panied him to the hall, where the performance was to take 
place. 

A very large audience had assembled to witness the 
exhibition, and the curtain was rolled up, displaying a 
series of rolls of mammoth pictures. Sometimes two pictures 
would be unfolded to view, when the contrast of their char- 
acter called for this duplicate presentation ; and again a 
single picture would be exhibited in the centre of the stage. 

The pictures were of the usual grotesque perspective 
kind, generally seen in panoramas. 

The real entertainment was furnished by the delineator, 
whose rich brogue and strong national bias, imparted a 
raciness peculiarly unique in its way. 

The honors were divided between Mickey Houghlahan 
and his orchestra, which consisted of one performer on the 
violin. It had been announced that appropriate music would 
be played between the acts, but as the repertoire of the 
musician was limited to a few well-known airs, the musical 
selections were exceedingly incongruous. 

The proprietor of the panoramic views announced that 
as ‘Hwo historical picthurs of royal faymale sovereigns would 
first be unfolded to view, the audience would be thrated to 
appropriate music,’’ and, in sotto voce^ gave the command : 

‘‘ Fire away wid yer music, Mr. Saler.” 

The fiddler struck up the tune : 

“Ole King Cole was a merry ole soul, 

An’ a merry ole soul was he ; 

He called for his pipe, 

He called for his bowl. 

An’ he called for his fiddlers three.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


209 


When the orchestral performance came to a close, 
Mickey Houghlahan, called to his supernumerary : 

“ Rowl her up Larry, an’ show the ladies an’ jintlmin 
the great historical picthurs uv the two great faymale queens 
that reigned contiguous to aich other. 

“Ladies an’ jintlemin ! Here ye see two great his- 
torical charackthurs ; two royal faymales, as different as day 
is from dark (an’ shure that’s no lie, fur in spakin’ o’ these 
queens a body might as well tell the thruth an’ shame the 
divil, as to be maley-mouthed about it.) To the right 
claspin’ her crucifix in her hands, you behold Mary, Queen 
o’ Scots, an’ shure it’s many a day till ye’ll clap yer two 
eyes on as purty a craythur ; wid her beautiful brown eyes, 
as big as saucers ; her lovely nose that stands to the fore, 
like the mountain o’ Slieve Dhu, in the county o’ Galway, 
a beautiful strate line wid rounded curves at the bottom ; 
her lips like two ripe cherries ; her neck as soft an’ white, 
an’ as long too, as a swans ; her brow as smooth as an alli- 
basthur doll’s ; her hair as foine an’ thick on her head as fairy’s 
flax in a haunted boreen ; an’ her royal robes of velvet, 
adornin’ her beautiful form ; that is Mary Stuart, Queen o’ 
Scotland, that was murdhured by her own cousin, through 
jealousy. 

“Now cast yer eyes to the lift, an’ take a look at the 
woman wid the carroty pole, wearin’ a goold crown on her 
head ; she has a pug nose, an’ a pair of eyes like a weasel’s, 
an’ a dint in her forrid, an’ a short stump of a nick like a 
bull, an’ be the same token she wears a ruffle around it for 
all the world the picthur uv a horse’s collar ; look at her big 
bony hands, an’ her short body like a cowld winthur’s day, 
an’ watch what she’s doin’, writin’ at a table wid a short 
stump uv a pin. An’ what do yiz think she is writin’, 
ladies an’ jintlemin? Maybe yiz think it’s signin’ a renewal 


210 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

uv a lase, for some poor sowl that was goin’ to be evicted 
by a cruel landlord. In throth thin it’s not, but signin’ the 
death warrant of Mary Queen o’ Scots. Bad scran to ye, 
Bloody Queen Bess. It’s you that had the wimin an’ child- 
hur burned to death in the caves in Ireland, an’ it’s many 
a day ye made huz sup sorra in your reign ; not a haporth o’ 
good did we git from your reign, only the praties an’ tobacci 
that Sir Walter Raleigh brought over from Amerikay, more 
power to him ; only fur him I couldn’t take a whiff o’ me 
dudeen. No thanks to you. Queen Elizabeth. The divil’s 
cure to ye, ye murtherin’ vixen. Rowl her up Larry ; shure, 
the sight of her is enough to turn the crame sour the oowld- 
est day in winthur.” 

The assistant rolled the pictures out of sight, and as the 
orchestra had taken leave of absence, for the purpose of 
partaking of a beverage ; the central roll of pictures was 
next exhibited. 

The first picture displayed, was a very correct one of 
Napoleon Bonaparte. In the back ground the moving 
armies were crossing the snow-clad Russian mountains, 
while the great commander, in his unpretentious suit, with- 
out adornment, sat upon his charger, knitting his brows in 
deep thought. 

Walking to the footlights, the delineator proceeded with 
his description : 

“ Widout shpakin’ a word, I suppose yiz all know who 
this is?” 

Pausing, that his auditors might consider the subject, he 
continued : 

“ This, ladies an’ jintlemin, is the greatest military 
hero that ever wielded a swoord or fired a shot ; though its 
my opinion that at a rale faction fight, whin the ony weepon 
to be had is a good shillahli ; there’s a third cousin o’ me 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


211 


own, wan Paddy Byrne, o’ Skibbereen, by the mother’s side, 
that ’id handle a blackthorn stick in a tastier, nater, an’ 
more illigant manner, while he’d be knockin’ the daylights 
out o’ ye, than the same Napoleon Boneparte.” 

“ Howsomever, that’s a matthur I am sorry to say, 
can’t be settled be a fair thrial ; for Napoleon Boneparte is 
dead an’ berried this many a day, an’ share, poor Paddy 
Byrne listed an’ was kilt in the Sepoi wars long ago. But 
yiz all will allow, there never was a greater thraveler than 
the same Bony ; over hills an’ dales and in an out, thrailye 
hail3"e, thrampin’ over the bogs an’ the snows, wid his sojers, 
an’ makin’ the whole wurld a parade ground.” 

By this time the orchestra had returned, and the delin- 
eator called for music : 

“ Give huz somethin’ shootable if ye plaise, Misthur 
Saler.” 

As the musician had listened to the closing eulogium of 
the great traveling powers of the renowned personage 
whose portrait was on exhibition, he rosined his bow and 
struck up the well-known tune, “The Arkansaw Traveler.” 

The effect was irresistible, and roars of laughter greeted 
this performance. 

“ Oh ! I see y\z are fond uv somethin’ lively like me- 
self, an’ shure I could play yiz a tune meeself, that ’id whip 
the flare from undhur yer feet, it ’id put that life in yer toes 
for dancin’ a jig.” 

Smiling at his auditors, the showman called to his 
assistant : 

“ Larry, show the ladies an’ jintlemin another picthur.” 

“ This, ladies an’ jintlemin, is a picthur uv Bunker Hill 
Monumint. It was here Warren fell, an’ shure, it’s no 
wondhur it kilt him. Where’s the wan uvhuz could fall from 
the top o’ that column, widout bein’ kilt dead on the spot ?” 


212 


BIDDY EINNIGAN^S BOTHERATON ; 


“ Music, Misthur Saler, if ye plaise ! ” 

Tiie orchestra responded by favoring the audience with 
a moroeau appropriate to the occasion for once : ‘ ‘ The 

Sword of Bunker Hill/* 

An encore was called for, and while it was being ren- 
dered, a gentleman sitting in the next seat, tapped Jack 
Carson on the shoulder, remarking : 

“ I say, Carson ! this is an original entertainment. Oh, 
excuse me ! I thought you were alone,” perceiving a lady 
with his friend ; the gentleman apologized for the intrusion. 

After speaking to Jerusha Ann, Jack introduced his 
friend Mr. Murphy, to Miss Weathersby. 

How do you like my distinguished countryman’s his- 
torical •* pot-pourri,’ Miss Weathersby?” he asked. 

‘‘I am enjoying myself much more than 1 should at 
the Italian Opera, 1 assure you,” she replied. 

The music ceased, and two more pictures were unfolded 
to view. A really artistic canvas, representing Lurline 
arising from the water, and another representing a scene 
from Wagner’s Opera of Lurline. 

Applause greeted these beautiful productions, and the 
delineator called to Mr. Saler for his favorite tune, confident 
that at last an harmonious arrangement of music and art 
would be combined ; but the orchestra had again taken 
leave of absence, for the purpose of partaking of a beverage ; 
and the delineator made the best of the situation. 

‘‘ I’m sorry to disappoint yiz in the matthur o’ the 
music, ladies an’ jintlemin, fur Misthur Saler plays a tune 
that was composed by a wagoner, an’ shure, though it was 
med be a dhrayman himself, it ’id delight yiz to hear the 
beautiful music that’s in it ; but poor Misthur Saler is 
troubled wid the wathur brash on his chist, an’ be raison uv 
his ailmint, he is fond uv a dhrop, between you an’ I.’* Here 


213 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 

the delineator gave a side wink, as he communicated this 
secret bit of intelligence, to his auditors. Then he con- 
tinued : 

‘‘ The story o’ these picthurs is, it’s all about fairies 
that wor a botheration wid their deludherin’ ways, an’ shure 
it was in the wathur, they used to be skippin’ about like 
frogs ; these wor Dutch fairies, an’ though ye moight think 
this wan wus a purty colleen in washin’ herself ; it’s there 
ye are out, for she was no Christian at all, at all ; only 
♦makin’ game o’ the people. In owld Ireland, it’s on the 
hills the fairies do be dancin’, an’ some uv ’em is not so 
bad afthur all ; they does be makin’ pipes o’ the stims o’ 
the dandelion blossoms, an’ ye’d see the whole hill litthured 
wid the feathery tops o’ the dandelion, afthur a night’s 
frolic an’ smoke ; but more betoken, there is some o’ thim, 
an’ the divil’s dhrop is in ’em, fur it’s goin’ around the 
counthry, turnin’ the milk sour an’ hindhurin’ the butthur 
from cornin’ in the churn, they does be. Molly Hannigan, 
near Skibbereen, cotched wan uv these wan day. It was 
runnin’ through the dairy in the shape uv a hare, an’ shure 
what to do wid the fairy, she didn’t know ; an’ there’s a 
bit uv a song that tells how she banished him at last ; an’ as 
Misthur Saler is stayin’ so long wettin’ his whistle, maybe 
I had betthur sing it for yiz meeself, as I have nothin’ 
betthur in the way o’ fairy music, that shoots the picthurs.” 

Clearing his throat by a series of coughs, he began : 

“ Oh, some they do adwise me to grind him in a mill, 

An’ some they do adwise me to dhrown him in a well ; 
But ril take me own adwice, an’ I’ll carry him far away; 

An’ I’ll tie him wid two thraneens betune two cocks o’ hay.” 

Vociferous applause greeted this gem of vocal music. 
Ere the clapping ceased, the orchestra had returned. He 


214 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


gave a selection from Wagner’s Opera of Lurline, and from 
the manner of the performance it was an open secret, that 
the medicine for the cure of the water brash was beginning 
to take effect. 

A very large picture of the Battle of Buena Vista, the 
next exhibited, proved a stumbling block to the delineator, 
whose information concerning the war with Mexico was 
limited to the bare knowledge that the Yankees were the 
victors ; but his eye caught sight of a pumpkin vine, which 
the Connecticut artist, in his effort to portray the luxuriance 
of tropical vegetation, had introduced in the foreground of 
the picture : 

“ Shure, yiz all know about the Battle o’ Buena Vista, 
an’ I’ll not go over it to yiz ; but be way uv divarsion, I’ll 
tell yiz the story o’ what happened wance wid a pumpkin ; 
for I see they ruz a foine crop o’ pumpkins in the place, an’ 
though some o’ yiz hear tell o’ the same story maybe there’s 
many a wan that didn’t. Howsomever, this is it : 

“ There was a Connaught man, from wan o’ the Islands 
west o’ Connaught, where the only horses an’ carts they 
do be havin’ is fishin’ smacks and sloops to ride over the 
salt say wid, an’ whin he cum to Amerikay, he seen a great 
hape o’ big yallah pumpkins wan day, an’ says he to the 
man that had ’em : 

“ ‘ Musha, what’s thim, sur?’ 

‘ ‘ An’ shure, to take a rize out uv him, the man said : 

“ ‘ Thim is mare’s eggs,* sez he ; ‘ They hatches horses 
out uv ’em,’ sez he. 

‘*‘Begor! I’ll buy wan uv ’em so, if ye’ll tell me 
bow to hatch ’em, sez the Connaught man. 

“‘Oh, that’s aisy enough,’ sez the man. ‘Ail ye 
have to do is to make a bed uv hay around it, an’ keep it 
warm long enough till the little colt comes out.’ ” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


215 


“ ‘ Faix ! that’s aisy enough,’ says the Connaught man, 
an’ so he bought the pumpkin, an’ made a bed o’ hay 
around it ; an’ sot on it day afthur day, to keep it warm, an’ 
wan day he felt the thing stirrin’ undhur him, an’ just thin 
he seen a jack rabbit runnin’ along by the fence ; an’ he 
runs afthur it callin’ out : ‘ Colty ! Colty, dear ! Cum here 
to yer mother, shure I’m yer mother, darlint ! ’ ” 

The medicinal properties of the great “ Water Brash 
Kemedy.” had become so pronounced that the delineator 
was unable to proceed further with the show, for want of an 
orchestra. Stepping to the footlights, he announced the 
close of the performance : 

This, ladies an’ jintlemin, inds the inthertainmint, for 
this evenin’ ; barriii’ the sight o’ a choice collection o’ 
skulls, that I have here widin, behind the blue calico cur- 
tain ; of some o’ the greatest heroes the world has ever seen, 
an’ which I’ll be happy to show any o’ yiz, that wants to 
look at ’em.” 

Jack Carson’s friend, Mr. Murphy, immediately arose 
and started for the blue calico curtained apartment, followed 
by Jack Carson, Jerusha Ann Weathersby and a few more 
ladies and gentlemen. 

A number of human skulls were displayed on tables, 
and the genial showman proceeded to give a history of 
each. 

“This, ladies an’ jintlemin, is the skull of Alexandher 
the Great. A great Greek Gineral an’ a powerful fighter uv 
long ago ; they say he conquered the whole world wancet, but 
in the ind it was his fondness fur Innishowen that kilt him. 
An’ this is the skull o’ George the Fourth, an’ it was bein’ 
too fond uv his belly that kilt him. An’ this is the skull uv 
Joan uv Arc ; she was a grand woman, an’ druv the inimy out 
uv her counthry ; an’ more power to her, fur it. An’ this — ” 


216 BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 

Several times, Jack Carson had addressed Mr. Murphy, 
during the phrenological exhibition. Mickey Houghlahan 
now addressed this gentleman, personally. 

‘‘ An’ this ! — Gaze at this skull, Misthur Murphy ; wid 
holy raverince, fur here ye see before ye, the skull uv no 
less a saint tJian the Holy Saint Patrick himself. ” 

Mr. Murphy- contemplated the rather small skull, 
with becoming reverence. 

The showman continued: “This is the skull uv 
Andrew Jackson, the great American Gineral, that walloped 
the daylights onto’ the British, at New Orlanes, on January 
the eighth, eighteen hundhred an’ twjelve ; an’ sint thim home 
spinin’ across the salt say. An’ this is the skull uv Queen 
Cleopatra, wan o’ the purtiest wimin that ever lived ; . but 
they sa3^, she had a timper uv her own, an’ at a tongue 
thrashin’ couldn’t be bet in the four provinces. An’ this — 
Come here, Misthur Murphy. Step lightly an’ gaze wid 
holy raverince at what ye see before ye ; fur here ye see the 
skull uv the Great Apostle uv Ireland, the great an’ glori- 
ous Saint Patrick himself.” 

“ Why, how is that, you told me that skull on the 
second table below this, was the skull of Saint Patrick? 
How can they both be Saint Patrick’s skull?” remonstrated 
Mr. Murphy. 

Scratching his head, in his dilemma, Mickey Houghlahan 
replied : “ Thrue for me, sir ; but that was Saint Patrick’s 

skull, whin he was a little boy.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


217 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

The Dude Alphonse Fitzdoodledom Consults his Mam- 
ma about Inviting Miss Weather shy to the Opera , — 

“ Not the Style of Gelle that belongs to owah 
Set^ you Icnow^ Mamma; but in this 
howid place evewy thing is sofwesh; 

SheHl do, you know.** 

“ The deah sweet cweetchaw, I shall take her to the 
opewa. Not quite the style of gelle that belongs to owah 
set, you know, mamma ; but in this howid place evewy- 
thing is so fwesh ; she’ll do, you know.” 

Such was the commentary of Alphonse Fitzdoodledom, 
as he drew on his terra cotta colored kid gloves, preparatory 
to sallying forth to extend an invitation to Miss Weathersby 
to attend the Opera Bouffe. 

“ Dear Alphonse, Miss Weathersby is so odd, you must 
be very guarded, my son, in your remarks before her. One 
can never tell what queer things she will do. I suppose it is 
owing to her plebian origin, you know,” said Mrs. Fitzdoodle- 
dom to her hopeful son, 

‘‘ Aw ! It must be so maw,” replied the dude as he left 
the paternal mansion. 

Considering the fact that Mrs. Fitzdoodledom’s father 
began life as a mule driver, on the Erie canal, and that her 
husband’s first elevation in commercial society, was an 
elevation to the driver’s seat of a soap-fat wagon, from 
which exalted position he rose by degrees, to be the pro- 


218 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


prietor of a slop cart ; a pair of them ; a soap and candle 
manufacturing establishment in a cellar ; a maker of 
cosmetic fancy articles, and business pursuits of a similar 
character ; until by a system of parsimonious economy he 
amassed sufficient capital to enable him to live in a brown 
stone front, three-story mansion, and to fulfill the great 
American mission of “Putting on style.” Alphonse Fitz- 
doodledom had reason to hold up his nose above his neigh- 
bors. 

Biddy Finnigan had the audacity to remark : “That it 
was no wondhur the Fitzdoodledoms held up their noses above 
other people, fur the chandler’s business is a place where 
ye’d get a quare owld lot o’ smells ; an’ shure it’s but nath- 
ural a chandler’s childur ’id be howldin’ up their noses to 
get a whiflf uv fresh air, wance in a while,” and Biddy Finni- 
gan’s dissertation upon the Fitzdoodledom snobocracy, had 
been repeated far and near, by the goodly citizens of Mud- 
ville, until the youngest child in the town was familiar with 
the antecedents of the Fitzdoodledom family, and helped to 
make common cause against the ostentation and display by 
which the said family hoped to attain the highest social 
distinction. 

Alphonse Fitzdoodledom presented his card to Caesar, 
and bade him say : “ Mr. Fitzdoodledom desired the favor of 
Miss Weathersby’s company.” 

The negro showed the gentleman into the parlor, his 
white ivories glistening with delight as he noted the various 
articles of attire that adorned the person of Mr. Fitzdoodle- 
dom, junior. 

As Caesar went upstairs to deliver the visitor’s card, he 
chuckled to himself at the thought of how he would astonish 
the members of the Lincoln Club, by the ravishing toilet he 
next should wear, which he had determined would be an 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


219 


exact copy of the young gentleman’s toilet he had just 
seen, so far as his means would allow. 

“Mistah Fitzdoodledom is in de parlor, an’ wants to 
see you, Miss Jerusha Ann. Tell you what, he got mighty 
fine clothes on ; heap o* style about Mistah Alphonse.” 
Caesar delivered his opinion as well as his message. 

“ You can say, that I will be down presently, Caesar.” 
Jerusha Ann continued writing her letter, and when it was 
finished, went down to receive her visitor. 

“ Awh ! You look so chawming, Miss Jerusha. 
Weally the fwesh air of Mudville makes you look blooming,” 
said the visitor as he toyed with his mustache. 

“Yes, I am one of the common lot of girls, who enjoy 
being out of doors,” replied Jerusha Ann. 

“Not so common as all that, you know. No young 
lady in society belonging to owah set, you know, likes to 
have anything the common people, the nobodies, take pleas- 
uah in.” The dude was exhausted from this effort at con- 
versation. 

“ 1 am afraid you are laboring under a false impression 
with regard to my standing in society, Mr. Fitzdoodledom. 
I belong to myself and not to any set.” 

“ Awh ! You know it is only just to make conversation, 
you talk so. I should never think of calling on a young 
lady who was not of owah own set, no mattah how 
chawming she might be.” A placid smile diffused itself 
over the countenance of the sweet young man as he thus 
spoke. 

“ Then I fear you are wasting your time by lingering 
here, for I think we find more nobodies to the square inch in 
society, than in the territory outside of it.” Jerusha Ann’s 
features did not beam with a responsive smile, on the sweet 
young man. 


220 BIDDY FINNIGAN'B BOTHERATION; 

“ Now, Miss Weathersby, how odd you talk. Cawnt 
you favor me with a little music? ” 

Opening the piano, Jerusha Ann seated herself and 
asked : 

“ What shall I play for you? ” 

‘‘ How delightful it would be for us to do a duet. You 
have the ‘Gobble’ duet, I suppose, from the Opera of Pipo,"* 

“Yes. Please hand me that brown-backed book from 
the music stand ; it is in it.” 

The duet was sung, and the adolescent youth began to 
feel that his exquisite toilet had not enabled him to make 
a mash, to use the polite phraseology of his particular set. 
However, he determined that he would accomplish better 
results when escorting his old playmate to the opera. 
Turning over the pages of the music book, he remarked : 

“ Bye the bye, the F wench Opewa Bouflfe Company will 
a wive to- mo wo, and I should be glad to take you to the 
opening pefomance. Miss Weathersby, if you tell me what 
time 3^ou will be weddy to go? ” 

Before Jerusha Ann had time to reply Caesar opened 
the parlor door and announced “ Mr. Van Raenseller.” 

Jerusha Ann arose and received her visitor, who saluted 
Alphonse Fitzdoodledom. When both the gentlemen were 
seated Jerusha Ann said to the Knickerbocker, “ I sent you 
an answer accepting your invitation to attend the opera, Mr. 
Van Raenseller. Did you get my note? ’’ 

“No; so I came in haste to learn my fate from your 
ladyship in person,” he replied. 

“Well, your fate is to be tormented with the felicity of 
my society to-morrow evening.” 

Turning towards her first visitor Jerusha Ann said, 
“ I beg leave to decline the favor you contemplated bestow- 
ing upon me, Mr. Fitzdoodledom.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


221 


Blank amazement was depicted upon the countenance 
of the dude, as he abruptly took his departure. 

The dear, sweet young man, went home and told his 
mamma the astonishing news that his invitation had been 
rejected by Miss Weathersby, and the still more wonderful 
fact that Mr. Van Raenseller, a blue-blooded New York 
aristocrat, had actually sent a written invitation to the ple- 
bian maiden, who had accepted him as her escort. 

“As it happened, m}^ son, you can take this consolation, 
that after this we need not fear to admit Miss Weathersby 
to our circle,^’ was the balm his mother applied to his 
wounded feelings. 


222 


BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Mrs. Weatliershy Tries a New Patent Washing Soap. Biddy 
Finnigan enters a Protest against Patent Articles. 

Mickey Houghlahan Visits his Cousin. Biddy 
Asthore., let me out; Pm heginnM to 
Simmer. Let me out.^ before Pm 
Boiled like a Lobsthur ! 

“Now Bridget, I want you to try this new patent 
washing soap. It is made by Mr. Selworth, Mr. Fitz- 
doodledom’s former partner, who is now conducting the 
soap manufacturing business for himself.’’ 

Mrs. Weathersby unfolded the package on the kitchen 
table and began to read the directions. 

“ Musha, it’s a poor opinion I have uv the same article, 
mam. I’m afeered it’s all suds an’ froth, like the wan that 
invinted it,” remarked Biddy Finnigan as she listened to 
the directions. 

“ Put the large copper boiler on the stove right now, 
Bridget, and prepare the fire, so that it can be started with 
a match the last thing to-night, so that it will be ready for 
the wash right early to-morrow morning,” replied Mrs. 
Weathersby. 

Bridget did as she was told ; fixed all ready to start the 
fire and placed the enormous clothes boiler on the stove. 

“Just one quart of cold water pour into this pan, 
Bridget, and beat the mixture up in it till it is suds. There, 
that will do. Empty it into the boiler now, and let it stand 


OE, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


223 


till I come back from church ; then I’ll tell you what must 
be done next.” Mrs. Weathersby left the kitchen, while 
Biddy Finnigan muttered to herself : 

“Musha, be whipped to thim patent things. What 
good are they ? Ony a botheration to a body. There was 
that patent warmin’ pan that she bought last winthur — the 
friar she called it — an’ she blamed me for not knowin’ it was 
the owld brass divil-ma-jig, an’ not the parson, that she 
wanted put in the beds. Begor, I’ll never forget the night 
she filled the thing wid bilin’ hot watthur an’ put it in her 
own bed, an’ the screw kem out when she rowled over on it, 
an’ she had liked to be scalded to death. There’s the owld 
brass spittoon uv a thing laid away on the shelf ever since. 
An’ there was the patent mop that she bought when we wor 
house klanin’ ; an’ shure it id take the patience uv Job to 
larn all the twists an’ turns uv the thing, an’ I’d have the 
thing wiped as klane as a new pin, in half the time, wid a 
good fistful uv a foine scrubbin’ cloth in me fist. An’ the 
patent corkscrew, that all ye had to do was to push in a but- 
ton an’ there it was an apple parer ; or give a turn to the 
button, an’ there it sprung into a camp chair, an’ whin ye’d 
be sittin’ down on it the divil a wan could tell but it wor on 
yer hunkers ye wor sittin’ ; an’ if ye’d give the thing a prod 
in the ind it id turn into a fishin’ pole. An’ there was 
the ” 

A knock at the kitchen door interrupted Biddy Finni- 
gan’s train of reflections upon patent improvements. 

Biddy opened the door, and beheld the genial show- 
man. 

“Musha, the half uv tin to ye, l^Iickey, agrah, an’ how 
is every inch uv ye ? Shtep in an’ take a sate. Yer as wel- 
kim as the flowers uv May, so ye are.” 

The half of ten, viz., Biddy’s five fingers, were clasped 


224 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

in her cousin’s palm, and a pump-handle hand-shaking 
followed. 

Mickey Houghlahan took the proffered chair and en- 
tered into a chat with his cousin. 

‘‘Whin did ye hear from home, Biddy?” 

“Not fora month uv Sundays. The Duffys sint me 
the last letthur they got from home ; an’ it’s little comfort 
it is to hear uv the crops failin’ an’ the neighbors scatthurin’ 
to the four quarthurs uv the globe, so it is.” 

“ Faix, ye may thank yer shtars that it’s out uv it ye 
are, Biddy.” 

“ Aye, but a body can’t help feelin’ lonesome, thinkin’ 
uv home an’ absint frinds,” replied Biddy. 

“ Ha thin, I pity ye as much as I do a duck goin’ bare- 
footed.” 

“It’s Job’s comforter, ye are, Mickey; but I know 
well enough it’s thryin’ to divart me mind from thinkin’ uv 
the dear neighbors an’ the fun an’ frolic we used to have at 
a patthurn or on a fair day, that makes ye turn a filosofer, 
so it is.” 

“ A filosofer ! An’ what’s that, Biddy?” 

“ Urrah, don’t ye know what a filosofer is?” 

“ In troth I don’t ; but shure I’ll never larn it younger, 
so tell me what it is.” 

“ A filosofer is what they calls wan that id turn a thing 
inside out, an’ maybe its not what it id be to the fore, they’d 
argyfy was the thing at all, at all.” 

“ But how could a body believe thim? If they wor ar- 
gyin’ till doomsday wouldn’t a body believe their own 
eyes?” 

“ Ye’d think so, but maybe if ye wor to listen to their 
palaver they’d make ye think crows was white blackirds.” 

“ Aye would they, in or about Tib’s eve.” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


225 


“Tib’s eve comes naythur before nor afthur Christ- 
mas, but filosofers is as plenty as blackberries on the 
bushes.” 

“ It’s quare I never met wan uv thim.” 

“Maybe ye did, but be ray son uv ye not knowin’ the 
signs an’ tokens ye warn’t shure uv ’em.” 

“An’ what’s the signs an’ tokens?” 

“ Oh, it’s for all the wurld like makin’ starch, so it is, 
the way ye’d know thim. Now, if I goes to make starch, I 
mixes it wid cowld wathur, an’ powers bilin’ wathur on it ; 
and whin it’s done its starch — that nobody can deny ; but if 
I was to take the same starch whin it id be bilin’ hot, an’ 
shtur it around an’ around wid a shperm candle till the 
candle was melted into it, it id put a foine gloss on the shirt 
bosoms, an’ that’s what filosofy does : it puts a gloss on 
things.” 

“ An’ shure that’s no harm at all evints ; no worse than 
a bit uv blarney. I suppose filosofy an’ blarney is the wan 
thing.” 

“ No, in throth ; fur filosofy is a stiffenin’ thing, that it 
id make ye howld a smooth front to the fore if yer heart was 
breakin’ widin ye ; but blarney is like honey, sweetenin’ the 
bitthur things uv life.” 

“Was that what ye wor thinkin’ uv when I knocked at 
the dure?” 

“ Faix, it wasn’t. I was thinkin’ about somethin’ ye’d 
never guess.” 

“ An’ what was it?” 

“ Well, ye see, himself is a rale good-hearted man, an’ 
Jerusha Ann is as full uv mischief an’ divilmint as an egg is 
full to the shell, widout a bit uv harm in her, only up to 
fun ; but herself is as fidgety as a ferret. She is always 
thryin’ patent things, and whin the thing doesn’t work right 


226 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

it’s me that’s blamed fur not undhershtandin’ the new 
thing.” 

“That’s hard enough to be shure, but ye’d betthur hu- 
mor her wid her notions.” 

“ I does try ; but it id take the patience uv Job to do 
it, all the time. Now, here she comes into the kitchen 
this evenin’, bringin’ me a new patent washin’ soap, and 
the ordhurs is to mix the thing in a quart uv cowld wathur 
till ye have it in suds ; an’ thin ye’re to power more wathur 
till ye fill the biler ; an’ in the mornin’ take the clothes out 
o’ the soak an’ smather thim wid some more o’ the stuff, an’ 
pop thim in the biler o’ bilin’ hot wathur. Did ye ever hear 
tell o’ the Ibike since the day ye wor born ? ” 

“ Arrah, what matter, whin she ordhurs ye to do ’em 
that way ? ” 

“ But wouldn’t any Christian know that the dirt ’ll be 
biled into the clothes that way ? an’ I’ll never get ’em white 
agin? Me beautiful clothes, that all the ladies does be say- 
in’ is a betthur color nor any wan’s clothes in Mudville ! ” 

Biddy sighed as she thought of the dire disaster about 
to befall on the pride of her heart, for it was acknowledged 
that she was the best laundress in the town, and her mis- 
tress had often admitted that Sir Richard O’ Gorman’s 
“karacthur for doin’ up foine things” was a document 
corroborated by the evidence of fact. 

“I wouldn’t be down in the mouth about it, Biddy 
avic. Shure there’s more where thim cum from, an’ maybe 
it’s givin’ a job to some poor woman that’s in want o’ work 
ye’d be doin’ by followin’ her ordhurs.” 

“Faix, if I was shure o’ that it isn’t suckin’ me thumbs 
in sorra I’d be!” 

“An’ why wouldn’t ye be shure uv it?” 

Mickey lighted his pipe, and with his hands clasping 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 


227 


his knee, tilted his chair back, contented with the thought 
that the subject was satisfactorily settled. 

“For the ray son that it’s not the way wid the ladies to 
give imploymint to the poor widdy that has a family o’ little 
childhur depindin’ on the labor uv her hands, fur the bit an’ 
sup ; but its to facthories they does be goin’, where they’ll 
get the clothes med by machines fur half nauthin’. Whin a 
body thinks of it, isn’t the wit uv man a quare thing, that 
man should be puzzlin’ his brains loike a bee in a bonnet, 
buzzin’ an’ buzzin’ till he gets the thing out uv his head, in- 
vintin’ machines to take the bit out uv his own mouth in the 
ind.” 

“Musha, it’s thrue for ye, Biddy. The owld way may- 
be isn’t the worst for the people, in the long run. I seen 
the same thing meself afore now.” 

“Did 3"e? I suppose ye wouldn’t mind discoorsin’ it 
to me, thin, Mickey?” 

Taking the pipe out of his mouth and emptying its con- 
tents into the ash receptacle in front of the stove, Mickey 
Houghlahan proceeded to give his observations of things. 

“Well, ye see, what I was shpakin’ about was in regard 
to whiskey. You know they makes whiskey out o’ barley in 
owld Ireland, an’ a bit o’ turf from the bog an’ a few sacks 
o’ barley is all they do have to make it wid ; an’ whin it id 
be farminted there wouldn’t be a headache in a gallon uv it, 
though the shtill was nauthin’ but a simple conthrivance an 
tap uv a mountain. I was in wan o’ the big dishtilleries 
the}^ do be havin’ in this counthry, an shure the vats where 
they shteeps the whate is stretchin’ out, wan afthur th’other, 
till they covers a place as big as the county o’ Wathurford ; 
but for all that the whiskey they makes isn’t the wan thing ; 
an’ the rayson uv it is they takes a short cut in the makin’ 
uv it, an’ instid o’ waitin’ for the grain to crack they do 


228 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

have a chemist goin* around wid some shtuif in a bottle, an* 
he powers it into the vats an’ makes it farmint while ye’d 
cry Jack Robinson, but it isn’t like the Irish poteen, an’ 
there's a score o’ headaches to the glassful uv the American 
whiskey, bedad.” 

“It’s thruth yer tellin’ Whist ! — what’s that? Be all 

that's vexatious, it’s herself ! I hear her shtep in the hall, an’ 
she is cornin’ this way, an’ the dure open between huz. Ye 
darn’t go out be the back dure, fur she’d see ye, an’ she’d 
murthur me if she cotched ye in here. Whist ! Aisy, I have 
it. Here, jump into the copper biler, an’ I’ll clap the lid on, 
an’ she’ll never be the wiser !” 

Biddy communicated her desires in a whisper, and 
Mickey Houghlahan had barely time to conceal himself in 
the copper boiler when the mistress of the mansion entered 
the kitchen and interrogated Biddy. 

“ Did you put the clothes in soak, Biddy?" 

“Yis, m’am.’’ 

“ Well, I came to see that you give the new soap a fair 
trial, Bridget. Draw four buckets of water now, and pour 
them into the boiler." 

‘‘ I will m’am, as soon as I take off me Sunday frock,’’ 
replied Biddy, hoping to gain time, yet fearful of betraying 
the anxiety she felt. 

“ No ! Do it now. You won’t splash your dress ; you 
always do things neat. I want to see everything ready 
before I go to bed to-night.’’ 

There was no escape, and Biddy proceeded to fill the 
boiler as directed. She only half filled the bucket, however, 
but was forced to empty its contents on the genial showman. 
While she was refilling the bucket with water, Mrs. 
Weathersby went into the buttery, to get another package of 
the patent soap. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


229 


The genial showman raised himself in the boiler and 
was about to step out, when Mrs. Weathersby, returning, sent 
him to cover again. 

“ You soap the” “ Bridget, what is the matter with 

the boiler? what makes the lid clatter so ?” Mrs. Weathersby 
stopped reading the directions and gazed at the boiler, which 
had shifted its position, 

“It’s nauthin’, only I jowl ted it a bit whin I imp tied 
the wathur into the biler.” 

“ Take the lid off till you have all the water in. It will 
be time enough to cover the boiler then.” Mrs. Weathersby 
sat down by the kitchen table and continued reading the 
directions to Bridget, as she poured bucket after bucket of 
water into the boiler, until the prisoner within could stand 
no more, which fact he communicated by silent signals to 
his cousin. Replacing the lid, Biddy declared ; 

“ It’s all ready now m’am, an’ I believe I’ll go to bed.” 

Mrs. Weathersby left a portion of the patent compound 
on the table and took the remainder of the package back to 
the buttery. 

“I’ll be drownded if I shtay here much longer,” ex- 
claimed Mickey Houghlahan, in that tone of voice called 
a pig’s whisper. 

“ How much longer did you say?” “ That depends on 
the color of the clothes ; perhaps an hour longer will be 
enough.” Mrs. Weathersby returning, heard the last word, 
and supposed that Biddy was asking how much longer she 
should boil the clothes- 

/tt Very well, m’am, I’ll give it a fair thrial, and now I’ll 
lock up, an’ go to bed.” Biddy yawned and stretched her- 
self, hoping to get rid of her mistress. 

“ Well, you lock the alley gate and I’ll just set a match 
to the fire, so the water will be ready the first thing in the 


230 BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 

morning.’’ Before Bridget could interfere, Mrs Weathersby 
had started the fire, and as it cracked and hissed, blank 
horror was depicted on the countenance of the domestic. 

“Why, Bridget, what is the matter? You look scared 
to death ! ” 

“Run, quick, Mrs. Weathersby! the Fitzdoodle- 
dom’s house is afire, I believe ; an’ ma3^be they will be 
burned alive, m’am ! ” 

The last appeal sent Mrs. Weathersby flying across the 
street. 

Tipping the lid up, Mickey Houghlahan called out : 

“ Och, let me out! quick, Biddy asthore. I’m sim- 
merin’ ! ” 

Biddy helped her kinsman out of the boiler, and 
hustled him home without delay. She had barely locked 
the alley gate after him, when Mrs. Weathersby called out 
from the kitchen door, that it was a false alarm ; there was 
no house on fire in the neighborhood. 

“ Musha, divil ’s cure to ye for a patent soap ! Ye had 
like to be the death o’ me this night ! ” was Biddy Finni- 
gan’s parting malediction, as she put her head on the pillow. 


Biddy Asthore, let me out; I’m beginning to simmer. 

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OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


231 


CHAPTER XL. 

Jack Carson makes a Resolution Never Again to Exchange a 

Word of Civility with Jerusha Ann. — That Fourth 
of July Celebration. — A Lovers^ Spat . — 

Jack Carson^ s Love Letter threat- 
ens a Famine of Note-paper. 

Jack Carson sat in his room meditating upon his 
wrongs. Jerusha Ann Weathersby had been to the opera 
with Mr. Van Raenseller, some high-cockalorum of a chap 
from New York, that she knew nothing about, only as a 
passing acquaintance. The wrinkles on his brow knitted 
into ridges, as he pondered over the treatment he had 
received. 

Memory pictured the hallowed scenes of the past, dwel- 
ling on the joyous moments gilded with the sunshine of that 
presence which shed a radiance of happiness on his life. 

And as the vista of years stretched back, not a single 
incident was forgotten. How often he had loitered in the 
back alley, waiting for the gate to open, that he might carry 
the bag of school-books, for a wee maiden dressed in Red 
Riding hood cloak and fur tippets. Who was it fastened 
on her skates when his own little fingers were blue with the 
cold ! Who was it lent her his sled every day, for a whole 
week, when her own was broken by that booby Fonsy Fitz- 
doodledom ! Who was it shared his big rosy apple, the 
only one he had, with her! Yes, he remembered that day, 
when in the fullness of his juvenile heart, he beheld the 
longing glance of Jerusha Ann directed upon that treasured 


232 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


apple, and clasping his hands around it, to secure a reserve 
of its sweets for himself, he invited Jerusha Ann to take a 
bite, but not to go beyond the rubicon line of boundary, 
where his fingers marked a true half, but Jerusha Ann’s 
toothsome inroads encroached upon his fingers and he was 
forced to let go the coveted prize. 

Strange freaks the wayward fancy takes. That inci- 
dent of childhood’s days haunted the imagination of the 
young man, just verging upon his twenty-first birth day, 
with such pertinacity, that he found himself building a 
system of moral ethics upon it. Was it a forerunner of the 
fate in store for him? Was it thus the companion of his 
youth would bite at the apply of destiny, leaving him 
lonely and forgotten? 

Not all the kind favors and special remembrances Jeru- 
sha Ann had so often shown to him, could efface the bitter 
feeling he now regarded her with. 

His mind was made up now : from henceforth he would 
pass by Miss Weathersby, as an utter stranger. 

“Second thoughts are best: she shall not have the 
satisfaction of exulting in the thought that she has power 
to make my life miserable. I will make a call upon Susie 
Smithers, and escort her to the church sociable to-night,” 
said the young gentleman at last ; and he made an elaborate 
toilet, and left the house determined never again to 
exchange even the commonest words of civility with the 
girl who had slighted him. 

Jack Carson could have reached Deacon Smithers’ resi- 
dence without going near the Weathersby mansion, but he 
determined he would pass by the house and show, by his 
demeanor, the perfect indifference he felt toward the belle 
of Mudville. 

As he turned the corner of the street, he felt a thump- 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 


233 


ing sensation under his vest, and he found himself wonder- 
ing what Jerusha Ann was doing just at that moment. He 
took an obscurial peep at the mansion, and beheld the 
object of his thoughts, seated on the front steps looking 
down the street. He braced himself up, looked straight 
before him and passed by the house with stately tread, keep- 
ing right on his course. 

Bafig ! A handful of torpedoes dashed under him made 
the young gentleman forget all his dignity, in the sudden 
acrobatic performance he was obliged to make. 

Ere he had time to proceed further on his way, another 
handful of torpedoes and a pyrotechnic, known as a chaser, 
was hurled after him. 

Jack was in a bad humor, and determined that not all 
the pyrotechnics of a Fourth of July celebration, could 
make him halt. So as soon as he could get away from the 
artillery of fire-works, he again assumed the dignified strut 
which he had lately practised. 

He had not proceeded very far, however, when he heard 
the gate click, and soon after, his hat was unceremoniously 
bobbed down over his eyes, while a young lady’s hand held 
it tight behind, blindfolding him, and a merry voice called 
out : 

“ Say, Jack, is this you, or is it Mr. Glum?” 

“ It is Mister Mad, Miss Weathersby, and you know the 
reason ! ” he replied, in an icy tone of voice. 

“Miss Weathersby, indeed! Pray, when did you 
attend the grammar school last. Jack?” Jerusha Ann let 
go the hat, and stood gazing at the young man in astonish- 
ment. 

“ Just about the time you were taking private lessons 
from Mr. Van Raenseller.” Jack drew back his head, and 
felt that now he was having his revenge. 


234 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

“Private lessons from Mr. Van Raenseller? Pray, 
what do you mean ? ’’ 

“ Just what I say.’’ 

“ Then, I must say, your conversation is something like 
Dundreary’s conundrums, one of those things no fellow can 
find out.” 

“ Perhaps opera bouffe was so very interesting to you, 
in the company of a very particular friend, that your com- 
prehension is limited to the remembrance of the sweet 
things he said!” Jack Carson curled his lip as he gave 
utterance to his sentiments. 

“Jealous I Well, Jack, I did give you credit for hav- 
ing a little common sense. Go ahead, if you want to keep 
up the pouts, why you may, that’s all 1 ” Jerusha Ann 
turned on her heel and resumed her seat on the front steps. 

Resolution is a strange and fickle sentiment, despite all 
the valiant deeds ascribed to it. Jack Carson had made a 
firm resolution never again to speak to Jerusha Ann Weath- 
ersb}^ Vaulting over the fence at one bound, he took a 
seat beside her, and asked : “ Are you mad, Jerusha? ” 

“No, I’m not. Where the mischief were you going 
to. Jack?” 

“ I was going to take Susie Smithers to the Presby- 
terian church sociable.” 

“ Let me not detain j^ou, Mr. Carson I ” Jerusha Ann 
changed her seat to the opposite side of the door step, and 
her words were frigid in their intonation. 

“Now, Jerusha Ann, who is in* the pouts?” Jack 
shifted his position closer to her, as he spoke. 

“ Don’t keep Miss Smithers waiting, Mr. Carson.” Jeru- 
sha Ann drew farther away from the young man, as she 
made this remark. 

“I guess she won’t wait long.” Jack was in a 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. * 235 

thoroughly good humor, now that he perceived Jerusha Ann 
was jealous. 

“ Not on my account at least. I shall wish you a good 
evening and a pleasant time, which I feel sure you will 
have in the company of so charming a young lady as Miss 
Smithers.” Jerusha Ann arose and stepped into the hall, 
with all the dignity of a queen. 

Jack Carson followed her, and remarked : 

I was going to tell you why Miss Susie Smithers 
wouldn’t wait long for me, if you would let me.” 

“ Oh, the subject is of no interest to me, I assure you. 
As I have some letters of importance to answer this even- 
ing, I shall ask you to excuse me.” She ran up the stairs, 
entered her room and turned the key in the door. 

Jack felt thoroughly miserable as he heard the plick of 
the key in the lock ; but he knew it would be worse than 
useless to ask Caesar to take a note up to Jerusha Am^-Mu 
her present mood ; so he went home, and in the privac/ro 
his own room, sat down to write a letter to the young lady, 
whom an hour before he had made a resolution never to 
speak to as long as he should inhabit this sublunary 
sphere. 

The epistle consumed two boxes of perfumed note-paper 
before the proper style was attained, and yet the writer was 
not satisfied ; want of paper compelled him to seal up the 
last one, which he deposited in the mail box. 


236 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Jerusha Ann Gives Way to her Feelings, — Cross Purposes . — 
Susie Smithers Affianced, — The Bosom 
Friends Kiss and make up, 

Jerusha Ann locked her bed-room door, sat down, and 
burst out crying. She wept for a long time, and then sat 
thinking of the past. 

This was the first real sorrow of her life. She pon- 
dered, for a long time, on all the favors she had received from 
Jack. Memory recalled the many confidences she had 
reposed in her young friend ; how she had singled him out, 
from all the boys, as the one to be trusted above all others. 
Every wild or mischievous undertaking, that required an 
assistant, had always been confided to him, to execute. 
Now all was forgotten, and another claimed his attention. 

“That hateful thing, Susie Smithers ! I wouldn’t treat 
her that way. The mean thing ! She always did try to cut 
me out with Jack! Well, she shan’t have the satisfaction 
of seeing me wear my heart on my sleeve, for the daws to 
peck at. I’ll put a bold front forward, and call on Mrs. 
Folsom, the first thing after breakfast, to-morrow morn- 
ing, and find out how long this thing has been going on, 
without asking a question either. 

Having come to this determination, Jerusha Ann went 
to bed, and in the morning made a call upon Mrs. Folsom, 
Deacon Smithers’ next door neighbor. 

Almost the first greeting she received was, “Why were 
you not at the church sociable last night ? ” 


OE, THAT ROMP OF A GIEL. 


237 


“Oh, I had an engagement, and couldn’t go. Did you 
enjoy yourself at it? ” 

“Oh, yes, we had a delightful time; all the Bethel 
church young folks were there, and we missed you ever so 
much.” 

“It’s a good thing to stay away once in a while to 
find out how much people think of you.” 

“You should have seen Susie Smithers. She looked 
lovely, and judging from what I saw, I should say she made 
a mash.” 

“Susie is a real pretty girl, and I’m sure I wish her 
well from all my heart,” Jerusha said. 

“ Why, yes, I do hope she will do well, but where is the 
cash going to come from ? It takes something to keep a wife 
these days.” 

‘ ‘ His father is going to take him in as a full partner in 
the business on his twenty-first birth-day, I heard.” Jeru- 
sha Ann’s voice betrayed a little huskiness, as she spoke. 

“On his twenty-first birth-day ! It must be a joke.” 
Mrs. Folsom laughed derisively. 

“ So I heard.” 

“ Why that fellow is thirty-five years old, if he is a day, 
and the staid, quiet ways he has make him look older.” 
Mrs. Folsom said this with the air of conviction an expert 
in judging ages is allowed to use. 

“Perhaps Susie’s tastes have changed him, to adopt 
her demure ways.” Jerusha Ann thought this was better 
than no excuse, but she felt a little elated, to think Jack’s 
changed mood should have been noticed by Mrs. Folsom, 
the greatest gossiper in the town. 

“ Susie’s demure ways? Why, what is the matter with 
you to-day, Jerusha Ann? Susie Smithers is the greatest 
madcap, next to yourself, in Mudville.” 


238 BIDDY FINNiaAN^S BOTHERATION; 

A tap at the bed-room door was answered by Mrs. Fol- 
som, who admitted Miss Susie Smithers. 

“ I just came in to have a chat with you about the 
church sociable. Mrs. Folsom, tell Jerusha Ann what you 
think of my escort ? ” Susie Smithers took the low rocker 
and rocked herself, while waiting for the answer, her face 
beaming with pleasure. 

Jerusha Ann’s first impulse was to protest against hear- 
ing anything said on the subject ; but, upon further refiec- 
tion, she concluded to listen to Mrs. Folsom. 

“ He was very attentive, I must say ; but I think him 
too old, and so grave too. I should think he would be the 
last man such a girl as you would fall in love with.” 

Jerusha Ann felt her bosom heaving with indignation. 

“Paw says that is all the better; he believes in con- 
trasts. I came in to tell you of our engagement.” Susie 
Smithers blurted out the news without more ado. 

“ Pray, when is the wedding to take place?” asked 
Mrs. Folsom. 

“ On Thanksgiving Day ; the new parsonage will be 
finished then, and the Reverend Mr. Holmes thinks it will be 
just the thing for us to settle down to housekeeping at 
once.” Susie Smithers had scarcely finished speaking when 
Jerusha Ann threw her arms around her and kissed her 
vehemently, as she congratulated her. 

“I wish you joy, Susie, a thousand times. Now tell 
me what you would like best for a wedding present, for I 
don’t want to give you a fish fork, or anything of that sort.” 

“How would a door-plate with Thompson with a p in 
it suit, like Mrs. Toodle’s bargains?” remarked the lively 
Susie. 

“Pm sure it would be just as handy to have in the 
house as the bridal presents that are usually given,” Jeru- 


OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIBL. 


239 


sha Ann’s spirits rose like mercury in the tube of a ther- 
mometer after hearing the name of Susie Smithers’ be- 
trothed. 

“ ril tell you what, Jerusha, I’ll let you come with me 
to select my wedding dress. Do you want to come ? ” 
Yes.” 

The young girls entered the parsonage together, and 
after consulting Deacon Smithers about the important event, 
they went shopping. Jerusha Ann purchased the wedding 
dress, presenting it as her bridal gift, to Susie. 

When she returned home. Jack’s letter was on her dress- 
ing case. 

Tearing open the envelope, she devoured its contents, 
and was happy. 


240 


BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XLII. 

The Proposal. — Equine Intelligence. — The Grand Military 

Encampment. — Hardee" s Tactics Supplemented by 
Mickey Houghlahan"s. — Compendium 
of Martial Science. 

“Mistah Carson in de parlor, wants to see you, Miss 
Jerusha Ann."" Caesar delivered his message. 

“ ril be there In a minute, Caesar.’’ 

The negro had not reached the parlor door, when the 
young lady brushed passed him and extended her hand, with 
the same cordiality she had always shown to her old play- 
fellow. 

“ I came to sec if you would like to take a ride out to 
the Encampment, Jerusha. There will be a grand tourna- 
ment, a drill, a sham battle and storming a fort, all in honor 
of the Veterans, to-day.” 

‘‘Yes, Jack ; I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” 

Jerusha Ann possessed that most unfeminine accom- 
plishment of getting her clothes on in a shorter space of 
time than any young lady in Mudville, so that when Jack 
returned with the buggy, he found her standing on the 
steps, dressed for the festive occasion. 

A glow of joy diffused itself over the handsome face 
of Jack Carson, as he took his seat beside Jerusha Ann, to 
drive out to Washington Park. As they passed the out- 
skirts of the city. Pacer slackened his pace. 

Who can explain that secret mutual telegraph system, 
which exists between the horse and his master. We 
search in vain for the key to the mystery ; yet the fact 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


241 


remains an unsolved problem of social science. Pacer 
knew, by the very handling of the lines, that his master 
had a secret to impart, and as the busy thoroughfares, 
where the ordinary citizen plodded his way, were shrouded in 
the purple haze of distance, Pacer let his feet fall on the 
road with a softened cadence, as if he too were under the 
spell of a mysterious influence. 

The silence was broken by the tremulous voice of Jack 
Carson, as he addressed his companion : 

“ Jerusha? ’’ 

“ What is it, Jack? 

“Say, Jerusha?” 

“ I don’t know what to say !” 

“ Say, yes.” 

“Yes!” 

It was enough. The rosy god of Love fluttered his 
downy pinions above the scene, as Jack Carson sipped the 
dewy nectar glowing upon the maiden’s lips. 

Poor Pacer stood stock still, and it seemed as if he 
had arrived at his destination, from the protracted stay 
that was made beneath the shade of the spreading elm. 

At length the sound of approaching wheels caused the 
master to urge his equine on faster. ‘ “ Get up, Pacer ! Get up ! ” 

Giving a glance backward, to make sure that every- 
thing was satisfactory. Pacer whinnied his satisfaction and 
started on a brisk trot. 

The hurrying vehicles sped on towards the park, and by 
the time Jack Carson and Jerusha Ann reached the grounds, 
the military companies were marching to the grand stand. 

Leaving his horse in care of an attendant. Jack Car- 
son conducted his precious charge to a seat near the spot 
where the review was to take place. 

The governor of the State and his chief oflScials stood on 


242 


BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHERATION; 


a little knoll near by, conversing with the renowned gen- 
eral who was presiding officer, when a roar of laughter, 
proceeding from the assembled dignitaries, caused Jerusha 
Ann to turn her attention to the rear. 

“Say, Jack! look, if it isn’t Mickey Houghlahan and 
his new company.” 

Jack shifted his position, and listened to the genial 
showman’s military commands. 

Hardee’s tactics, although an acknowledged code of 
authority in military rules, were supplemented by the 
genial showman’s original compendium. 

The Mudville Police Reserves, Co. E, of which Mickey 
Houghlahan was captain, was composed of raw recruits from 
a political district whose votes in the coming Presidential 
election, it was hoped, would-^be secured by the compliment 
of convivial courtesies which camp-life engenders. 

As Mickey Houghlahan had the experience of actual 
service in the field, having served during the late unpleas- 
antness, and, as a drummer boy, participating in the war of 
the French and English forces against the Russians in 1854, 
he was chosen as captain of the company. 

It was an easy matter to fall in line and fill his part, as a 
private, but when military honors crowded thick upon him, 
the new captain found it a difficult matter to give the 
required directions to his men ; especially as the formula 
prescribed by military science was as unintelligible to his 
men as the language of the Hottentots ; but Mickey Hough- 
lahan cut the Gordian knot of the difficulty by substituting 
terms that were at once clear to the comprehension of his 
command, and with that easy familiarity for which he was 
so popular, he assisted the memory of individual members 
of his corps by personal allusions. 

“Musha, bad scran to ye, Jerry Duff! can’t ye keep 


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[ 243 ] 





OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


243 


shtep?” Here, wait a ininit,an’ I’ll fix ye.” Tying a straw 
rope around his right ankle and one of hay around his 
left, the captain gave his orders : 

“ March ! Hay- foot, sthraw-foot ! Hay-foot I Bad 

cess to ye, Jerry ! there ye have the right leg down whin it 
was the lift was called for ! ” 

The delinquent altered the position of his feet, and the 
company marched on, keeping step in a hesitant manner. 

“ Yis ’ill disgrace me wid the way yiz are goin’ lop-e- 
dee-lop, like a hare runnin’ away from the hounds ! Sthraiten 
yerselves an’ keep shtep betthur !” 

The company obeyed, and improved their marching. 

General S approached and put the company through 

their evolutions. He was assisted by the captain by sundry 
personal remarks addressed to the men. 

“ Can’t ye keep yer crubeens to yerself, an’ not be pok- 
in’ thim out beyant the line, Dinnis Sweeney ? ” 

“ Howld up yer chin, Pat Brophy ! There, Gineral, I 
have thim right now, sir ; fire away with yer ordhurs.’’ 

Scarcely had the last remark been finished, when bang — 
bang — went the shots, the company hearing the word “ fire,” 
supposed it to be a command from their oflScer, and discharged 
their pieces at the bear-pit immediately in front of them. 

The shooting drew the assembled spectators to the spot, 
and Company E Police Reserves became the center of 
attraction to the multitude. 

As the best means of concentrating the people, where 
they would see the military evolutions, General S. com- 
manded Captain Houghlahan, to proceed at once with his 
command to the public square and report for duty. Giving 
the military salute. Captain Houghlahan addressed his men : 

“ Company ! Attention ! ” 

The command was obeyed. 


244 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


“ Carry arms ! Right about face ! March ! ” 

The several commands were promptly obeyed, the men 
feeling that the honor of the corps was at stake, surprised 
the General by their drill, and the spectators applauded by 
clapping hands, Jack Carson giving the initial clap. 

It is wonderful how far fame inspires the soldier to 
deeds of glory. Under the influence of that cheer. Company 
E marched as a piece of mechanism, each solid line of men 
bending the knee by one impulse, each foot flrmly treading 
the measured paces, till the rows presented unbroken lines 
that would have done honor to the best drill-master in the 
country. 

The crowd followed on, keeping step with the soldiers 
until the measured tramp made the earth resound with that 
peculiar detonation caused by the tramp of vast armies. 

A bridge lay between the marching company and the 
public square, and the commanding general was beginning to 
feel seriously alarmed, lest the measured tramp of such a vast 
multitude should demolish the bridge, and cause a loss of life. 

Jumping into the saddle, he spurred his horse on, 
after the soldiers, to cause them to halt and take a detour 
by which they could reach their destination without crossing 
the bridge. Just as he reached the company the command 
had halted. 

In erecting the batteries and forts a number of bricks 
had been required, and at this point a huge pile of bricks 
was encountered, impeding further progress. 

Alas, poor Mickey Houghlahan knew not what to do. 
He scratched his head several times, hoping to clear the cob- 
webs from his memory, that he might recall to mind the 
military command by which a detour could be made, avoiding 
the obstacle, but “ Left Oblique ’’ or an equivalent term, 
could not be lured from his cranium by the most vigorous 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


245 


scratching or rubbing, and so, in desperation, Captain Hough- 
lahan yelled forth the command : 

“Schatthur, boys! Schatthur, an’ rally at tho’ther ind 
o’ the brick pile 1 ” 

One burst of merriment broke forth from the crowd, 

and General S was enabled to give his directions, by 

which the company made a detour. 

Jack Carson and Jerusha Ann Weathersby took a ram- 
ble through the winding paths that skirted the river’s bank, 
and only caught an occasional glimpse of the Grand Re- 
view. 

In one of the secluded spots they beheld a sight that 
charmed them far more than the gorgeous pageant. A hen, 
who had hatched out a lot of ducklings, was there strutting 
proudly with her little familj^ by the edge of a pond. The 
ducklings, true to their nature, sought the water. The poor 
mother bird, in the agony of her despair, began cluck- 
ing and endeavoring to induce her wandering young to 
return, but to no purpose. Finding her solicitations un- 
heeded, the mother bird, in her overpowering love for the 
erring brood, flew out to the middle of the pond, and by her 
shrieks attracted the attention of the young ducks. By that 
peculiar instinct nearly allied to supernatural intelligence, 
the ducklings, aware of their mother’s danger, swam to the 
center of the pond, and forming themselves into a circle 
around the mother hen as she descended to the water’s 
edge, made of themselves an improptu raft, and swimming 
boldly for the shore, conducted their mother in safety to the 
land. 

The marching, double-quick and competitive drill were 
viewed by the vast concourse assembled at the grand stand 
in the public square ; but a few, like Jerusha Ann and Jack 
Carson, sought the shady nooks, afar from the madding 


246 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 


crowd, and were content to catch occasional glimpses of the 
military manoeuvres. 

A shout from the distant stand proclaimed the tidings 
that the jeweled scabbard had been awarded to the best 
drilled command, and Jerusha Ann observed to Jack : 

“ Poor Biddy’s cousin will come out in the little end of 
the horn, I suppose.” 

“ With his usual luck in blundering, I shouldn’t be sur- 
prised if Captain Houghlahan were to distinguish himself 
and his men, before the day is over,” answered Jack. 

They then took the winding path along the river bank, 
and plans for the future, all glowing with golden tints of 
life’s young morn’, occupied their attention so completely 
that Jerusha Ann was startled when she beheld the vast 
multitude congregated near the river bank. 

The sham battle was taking place, and an exciting scene 
it was. The breastworks were stormed and taken, and the 
reserves were ordered into position, to fire upon the enemy 
and silence the guns at the opposite side of the river. 

The position was this : The breastworks just taken by 
the prize-drill regiment. Company A were on the east bank 
of the high embankment, the river being fifteen feet below 
at this point. The place commanded the position of the 
imaginary foe, the ground at the west side being almost on 
a level with the river, where the fort had been erected, from 
which the Union Jack fioated to the breeze. 

Not rightly understanding the command of his superior 
officer Captain Houghlahan, commanding the reserves, asked 
the Division General : 

“ Did ye ordhur huz to capture the inimy’s fort acrass 
the river, Sur?” 

‘‘Yes. Must I speak twice. Sirrah?” replied the gen- 
eral, who was a strict disciplinarian. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


247 


Placing his hand to his cap, Captain Houghlahan respect- 
fully withdrew. In a moment after he was with his men, and 
shouted in stentorian tones : 

“The ordhurs is to capture the British fort bey ant, 
boys. God save Ireland, an’ the divil take the hindmost ! ” 

Leaping into the rapid river. Captain Houghlahan 
struck out for the opposite shore, followed by his men, who, 
being natives of the West coast of Ireland, were all good 
swimmers. 

This was a performance not contemplated in the day’s 
programme. The people and the military rushed to the brink 
of the bank, expecting to see the mangled bodies of their 
comrades ; but what was their astonishment to behold them 
buffeting the waves in perfect mastery, apparently as much 
at home in the water as so many ducks ! 

Soon the opposite bank was reached, and the fort demol- 
ished. Captain Houghlahan captured the British standard ; 
carrying it between his teeth, re-swam across the rapid river, 
and clambering up the steep embankment, presented the con- 
quered flag to the Commanding General, with the remark : 

“More power to ould Ireland, — here it is, Sur !” 

A deafening shout of applause rent the air, as the 
soldiers of Company E took their places, and a deputation 
of citizens demanded that an acknowledgment be made of 
the valiant exploit so quickly performed by the awkward 
Irish squad. 

A handsome American flag was awarded Company E. 
They marched into the supper hall with wet uniforms on, 
but when the Captain of Company E was called upon for a 
toast his usual talent for blundering led him to give one 
whose appositeness passed into a hon mot. His toast was : 

“ Our civic military societies : Invincible in peace and 
invisible in war I” 


248 


BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XLIIL 

An Old-Fashioned Lunch, — Biddy Finnigan Entrusts Jem- 
sha Ann to Deliver the Priesfs Present, 

“ What is it smells so inviting, Biddy? I have a raging 
appetite, and am prepared to put away any goodies at a 
moment’s notice/’ Vaulting on to the kitchen table, Jerusha 
Ann swung her legs, as of old, and waited for the lunch. 

“ Ye have the same ould kick in yer shin as whin ye 
wor the size of a sod of turf, Jerusha. God keep ye, a 
child in heart as long as ye live, Acushla !” Biddy brought 
forth a crisp pie, smoking hot, and set it on the table beside 
her young mistress, with plate, knife, fork and napkin. 

“Thanks, Biddy. I want to have an old-fashioned 
lunch, with the pie plate in my lap, as I used to do.” Miss 
Jerusha Ann steadied the plate in her lap, and began opera- 
tions at once. 

“ Musha, it does me heart good to see ye in yer 
owld place agin. Ever since ye wint off to the boardin’ 
school the kitchen looks lonesome for ye.” 

“ What will you do when I get married, Biddy?” 

Biddy put the corner of her apron to her eyes and wiped 
away the tears that welled up. 

Jerusha Ann felt a choking sensation in her throat ; but 
she appeared unconscious, and munched her pie in silence. 

“ I’ll not shtay afthur ye, so I won’t. I’ll give notice, 
so I will.” 

“Oh, Biddy! you must not think of leaving maw! 
What would she do with a strange girl ? ” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A OIRL. 


249 


“ Faix, I^m goin’ to lave her thin, an’ I was talkin’ to 
Masthur Jack about it, an’ it ’s settled, so it is.” 

“ So you and Jack have been making arrangements, 
eh?” 

“ Yis.” 

“Well, well; this is a pretty piece of business! Just 
five days engaged, and he is taking on the airs of a married 
man already. I must see to this.” 

“ Say, Miss Jerusha, ye won’t be vexed wid me, if I 
shpake me mind to ye ? ” 

“ No. Talk right out.” 

“ I was afeered o’ me life ye war goin’ to marry wan 
o’ thim new comers.” 

“ What made you think that, Biddy? ” 

“There was such a recourse o’ thim cornin’ to the 
house. No sooner would the dure be shut on wan, than 
another would be tuggin’ at the bell.” ♦ 

“Come to think of it, I’ve had my share of admirers, 
but why do you like Jack the best, Biddy? ” 

“ Shure me heart warmed to him ever since the day he 
med the skeleton dance jigs for the sperit mediums. Lan- 
yewhalleh, will ye ever forgit that night ! and the white owl 
had like to frighten the life out o’ me the nixt mornin’, 
whin I started the fire. It fiew from the top o’ the shtove 
pipe, an’ it put the heart accrass me wid fear, for meself 
thought it was wan o’ the divil’s imps, left over by that 
owld white-washed sepulchre, Sisthur Folsom.” 

Knowing Biddy’s antipathy to Mrs. Folsom, Jerusha 
Ann changed the current of her thoughts, by complimenting 
her pastry. 

“You make the best pies in Mudville, Biddy, and this 
green apple pie, is the Kohinoor in the crown of your 
successes.” 


250 BIDDY FINNIGAN^S BOTHERATION; 

“ Yer talkin’ dictionary talk to me now ; but be the 
same token, I had somethin’ in my mind to tell ye regardin’ 
the same green apple pies.” 

“ Oh, whisper what thou feelest, let no unhallowed ear 
listen to the music of thy voice to me, so dear.” Trilling 
this stanza, Jerusha Ann told her faithful domestic to 
unbosom her confidence. 

Thumbing her apron, an infallible sign that a most 
momentous secret was about to be imparted, Biddy told 
her tale by the usual Irish method of asking a question. 

“ Do ye know Father Brady? ” 

‘‘ Yes. He is one of my best friends.” 

‘‘Well thin, ye have it out o’ me now. It was of 
Father Brady I was thinkin’.” 

“ I fail to see the similitude between Father Brady and a 
green apple pie. Ah, perhaps the comparison lies in the 
fact that he is crisp and brown on top ; or perhaps an apple 
pie suggests to your mind the theological status of apples 
in the first book of Genesis, or ” 

“ Arrah, whist wid yer ramshogin, an’ tell me what ye 
think uv it! Ye see, Mrs. Kelly, his housekeeper, is a 
good, aisy-goin’ woman, an’ all that, but she is a thrifle 
owld, an’ in her best days (betune you an’ I an’ the hob, 
an’ let it go no farther) she never med apple pies that was 
the aiqul o’ my pies.” 

“ That I can vouch for from personal experience, for 
Father Brady often gave me a hunk of pie on my way home 
from school, and it was a base imitation of the genuine 
article, but 1 managed to eat it, however.” 

“ Well, as I was sayin’ in regard to these pies : I was 
thinkin’ I’d like to give a couple o’ thim to Father Brady, 
for he does be wake an’ dawnshee, these hot Sathurday 
afthurnoons; but I’m ashamed to give him such a poor 


251 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 

present meself, an’ I was thinkin’ maybe ye’d help me to 
think uv a way to get ’em to him, widout lettin’ on who 
sint ’em.” 

‘‘Oh, I see the difficulty now : you don’t want to offend 
Mrs. Kelly by casting an imputation on her culinary art.” 

“That is it.” 

“ All right ; put your pies in the basket, and your bon- 
net on your head, and I will be with you in a trice, and help 
you to do the thing brown.” 

Jerusha Ann accompanied Biddy Finnigan on her mis- 
sion. They entered Saint- Patrick’s Church, and taking 
seats in one of the rear pews, beheld Father Brady seated 
in his confessional box, vigorously engaged fanning the 
mosquitoes off with a palm-leaf fan. 

The last penitent had just left, and the sexton of the 
church called Father Brady to give his opinion concerning 
the decoration of the grand altar. 

“Now is our opportunity, Biddy. Give me the pie and 
I will put it where he will be sure to find it,” whispered 
Jerusha Ann. 

Taking the pie she walked to the confessional, and 
placed it on the center of the seat, and returned to the back 
pew. Seeing some penitents assembled around his box, 
Father Brady returned, and hastily sat down to attend to his 
sacerdotal duties. 

Bye-and-bye Father Brady was called upon to answer a 
sick call. As Jerusha Ann beheld him promenading up the 
aisle with the remains of that green apple pie smeared over 
his white surplice, she hastily left the church, ere Biddy 
Finnigan, who was absorbed in her devotions, should be- 
come aware of the fate of the priest’s present. 


252 


BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

Random Thoughts on Wooing, 

The halcyon days with golden beams sped on, each 
freighted with the argosy of rosy hours, chasing each 
other as dancing motes of a sunbeam whose silent flight 
leaves not a shadow on the dial of time. 

Ah, who shall sound the deeps of that ocean of bliss, 
upon which the barque of life is launched in youth’s halcyon 
days? 

Wreathed with the iris-hued tints of promise, the horo- 
scope of the future is cast with no faltering hand. Through 
the vista of the unforeseen, the coming years scintillate with 
the dazzle of diamonds, gleaming as precious jewels in a 
necklace. 

Not all the wealth of Golconda’s mines shall ever have 
power to reset the precious jewels with the same unblemished 
luster. Not all the barbaric splendor of the Indies shall 
adorn with such dazzling raiment the measured footsteps of 
the ontreading years as that which decked the days of new- 
born happiness in life’s early morn. 

No melody, chanted by the sweetest singer that ever 
warbled a song, hath entranced in such spell-bound ecstasy 
as the voice of that maiden whose faintest whisper stills the 
pulses of our being in the hush of a new-born emotion. 

When the dread archangel shall stand upon the earth 
as his footstool, and blow his flnal trumpet, summoning 
mankind to the last judgment, the glory of nations, the 
pomp of rank, hatred, scorn, ambition, avarice, and the 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A G«IRL. 


253 


petty emotions that sway the lives of men, shall wither 
away at the blast of his trumpet ; but one emotion, love, 
shall be preserved as worthy to be transplanted in the eter- 
nal paradise. 

The fiat has gone forth, and but onee shall a glimpse of 
heaven’s blue enchant us in this mortal sphere, and that 
glimpse breaks upon our view in life’s early morning, ere the 
canker of distrust gnaws the bitter fruit, or the sinister glow 
of avarice lights the gilded mausoleum where the skeleton of 
the heart lies buried. 

To picture the joy experienced by Jerusha Ann 
Weathersby and Jack Carson as the days of their betrothal 
slipped by, would be a difllcult task. As well chronicle the 
fiight of a butterfiy or the tour of a humming-bird. 

Perish the thought that each emotion shall be invoiced 
as a ticketed article of merchandise, to be duly labeled and 
recorded ! 

Reader, shall you be told the thousand soft nothings, 
fraught with so much to the interested, and yet appearing so 
meaningless in the dull, cold page? Remember the poet’s 
admonition that : 

“Fools rush in, 

Where angels fear to tread.” 

Trite as this couplet may appear, it bears out a senti- 
ment more honored in the breach than the observance. 

It is needless to tell the rapture of meeting, the fitful 
anxiety of Jerusha Ann, the particular stress upon the hinge 
of the front gate at parting, more ruinous to the ironware 
than three years’ service of the ordinary wear and tear of 
usage and atmospheric changes. 

It is unnecessary to state the exact number of times a 
peculiar detonation, resembling the sound of a wet slipper 


254 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

slapping on a barn door, was heard in the vicinity of the 
Weathersby mansion. 

To the student of dynamics, seeking information re- 
garding the precise nature of these phenomenal sounds, and 
the rate of velocity at which they travel, the subject pre- 
sents food for inquiry and investigation ; but to you, dear 
reader, without laying claim to a plagiarism, in the classic 
language of a modern Lord Chesterfield, we may be per- 
mitted to elucidate the subject by remarking : 

“ You know how it is yourself/^ 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


255 


CHAPTER XLV. 

The Dude takes unto Himself a Wife. Honey- Mooning 
at Niagara Falls. 

Alphonse Fitzdoodledom consoled himself for the loss 
of Jerusha Ann Weathersby’s fortune by hying to New 
York, where he made the acquaintance of the daughter of a 
millionaire patent pill manufacturer. 

He proposed, was accepted, and married after a brief 
engagement. The wedding ceremony was quite a tete-a-tete 
affair. Two sofas, upholstered in white satin, were placed 
on a dais, beneath a mammoth floral wedding bell. Upon 
one sofa reposed the groom, upon the other reclined the 
bride, as they languidly replied to the ministers" questions ; 
the whole proceeding evincing the style, you know, that 
these young Americans hoped to dazzle society with, and to 
blot out the traces of their hardy ancestry. The end 
attained was far different from their fond anticipations, and 
fastened their humble origin and lack of brains, as twin 
memories in the public mind. 

The dude and his bride made a tour to Niagara Falls, 
according to time-honored custom, and performed the feat 
of scratching their names on the bark of trees and defacing 
the natural beauty of every object within reach, after the 
fashion of dudes. 

Alphonse Fitzdoodledom was slow in speech but fast in 
morals, and had an amazing faculty for spending the surplus 
dimes which his toiling father-in-law had spent so m^ny 
years in accumulating. 

Niagara Falls, the Mecca of honey-mooners, is an insti- 
tution peculiarly American. 


256 


BIDDY FINNIOAN'S BOTHERATION; 


Niagara Falls is phenomenal, and holds the proud posi- 
tion of individual distinction among all the wonders of the 
world. 

The ancients congratulated themselves upon possessing 
a perfect hippodrome in the gigantic show business, but the 
nineteenth century discounts these claims as a mammoth 
fraud. 

With the electric light of modern days turned upon 
these would-be first-class curiosities, we discover that 
the pyramids of Egypt were nothing but cemeteries on the 
square ; the Pharaohs of Alexandria, small potatoes, and few 
in a hill ; the hanging gardens of Babylon, an advertising 
dodge of a Babylonian horticultural establishment, to clear 
out their old stock of pendant pottery ware ; the Temple of 
Diana at Ephesus, a caucus chamber where they used to 
hold mass-meetings of the gods at election time ; the statue 
of Olympian Jupiter, a show figure for a lightning-rod 
manufactory ; the mausoleum of Artemisia, a fascinating 
widow’s bid for a second husband ; and the Colossus of 
Rhodes, an effigy of an enterprising Colorado miner jump- 
ing two claims at once. 

No. The ancients may try to bamboozle posterity 
into the belief that they had a corner on natural curiosities 
and gigantic surprises, but the married man of the nine- 
teenth century, who has honey-mooned at Niagara Falls, can 
point to the Niagara cabman as the most stupendous 
concern, either ancient or modern times has yet produced. 

It may be necessary to remark right here, that the 
mighty American cataract, about which so much has been 
said and written, possesses this peculiarity, — the eye of each 
beholder acts as an achromatic telescope, in which the dis- 
persion of refraction causes each sight-seer to see this object 
in a different light. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


257 


As Alphonse adjusted his spy-glass to get a good view 
of the Falls, he remarked to one of the loiterers gazing at 
the cataract : 

“ Say, cawn’t you put this thing in order? ” 

“ Were you addressing me, sir,” replied the gentleman 
addressed. 

‘‘Yes.” 

“ I beg pardon, I did not hear what you said, sir,” re- 
marked the gentleman, with the utmost urbanity of manner. 

Directing the focus of his ocular lens full upon the 
stranger, with that supercilious stare characteristic of 
noodles, Alphonse Fitzdoodledom repeated the question : 

“ I say, cawn’t you put this thing in bettah order, when 
society people honah the place with a visit? ” 

What is your objection, sir?” demanded the stranger. 

“ It is dwedfully wet. Cawn’t you dwy up the moisture 
bettah?” 

Perceiving the character of the individual beside him, 
the gentleman answered : 

“I should be most happy to accommodate you, sir ; 'but 
it happens, most unfortunately, that a few moments before 
your arrival. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales or- 
dered it wet, and the vapors have been turned on.” 

“ Oh, Alphonse, I prefer it wet ; you see it must be the 
style,” observed Mrs. Fitzdoodledom to her husband. 
Turning to their informant, she betrayed her woman’s curi- 
osity by inquiring : ‘ ‘ Where is he ? I am dying to see a 

real live Prince. Will you point him out?” 

“ You see that gentleman in the gray coat with capes? ” 

“Yes, near the Canada side. Ah, how distinguished 
he looks ! ” 

“ That is the prince.' 

Alphonse Fitzdoodledom and his bride turned their at- 


258 BIDDY FlNNiaAN^S BOTHEEATION ; 

tention to the supposed Prince of Wales, while the urbane 
stranger gazed in wrapt admiration at the Falls. 

Presently an Irishman gave him a nudge, inquiring : 

“ Where is it, sir? ” 

“ Where is it ! Look before you. There it is.” 

“ An’ is that the Falls of Nighaghri? ” 

“ Yes, gaze at it well ! Here you see the waters of five 
inland seas, the great lakes, tumbling down in that mighty 
cataract, the greatest wonder of the world.” 

“ Arrah, where’s the wondhur in it, sur? ” 

“ Why, don’t you see that vast volume of water tumb- 
ling down over the rocks? ” 

“ An’ what’s to hindhur it? Now if the wathur was to 
jump up from below, Pd call it a wondhur, but the divil a 
thing is to hindhur it from rowlin’ down over a precipice.” 

Relighting his pipe, the Irishman walked away, while 
the sight-seers cogitated about the varied impressions a 
sight of Niagara inspires in the beholder. 

“Hubby, dear, let us drive round after the prince,” 
pleaded the bride, as she beheld the Western merchant in the 
gray coat about to change his position. The groom hailed 
the cabman. The bridal pair got into the cab, and followed. 

No sooner had the gentleman from the West purchased 
a few shells and souvenir trinkets, than Alphonse Fitzdoodle- 
dom bought exact duplicates of his purchases, and turning 
to one of the Indian squaws, he asked the vender of the 
curiosities : “ Cawn’t this person carry these things to the 

Hotel for us ? ” 

“ Me takee one dollah,” replied the squaw, well pleased 
to carry five shells a few rods for so good a price. 

The dude agreed to the price, feeling it would be 
plebian to take the trinkets in his carriage. 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL, 


269 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

Biddy Finnigan gives Notice to Mrs. Weathershy. — Diplo- 
macy in Marketing. — Gommercial Rivalry. 

“ Fll be lavin’ ye ma’m whin me month’s up.” Biddy 
Finnigan stood fumbling with the door-knob as she finished 
cleaning Mrs. Weathersbj^’s room. 

Surprised at this unlooked-for conduct, Mrs. Weathersby 
asked: “Why, Bridget, what put that notion in your 
head?” 

“ Divil a wan can tell what puts notions in a body’s 
head, ma’m, but as I was tellin’ ye : I’ll be lavin whin me 
month is up ; an’ I thought it best to give ye notice in time, 
ma’m.” 

“Oh, Bridget, is that all the feeling you have for 
me, after the long years you have been employed by me?” 
A pained expression rested upon the features of Mrs. Weath- 
ersby. 

This appeal staggered Biddy, who replied : 

“ In throth thin I feel as sorry for ye ma’m, as a horse 
that ’id be disappointed of his oats, but I can’t help it — I’ll 
be goin.” 

“ Why, Bridget, how can you leave me without a girl?” 
said Mrs. Weathersby in an angry voice. 

“ An’ wasn’t it widout a girl I found ye, ma’m.” 

“ Yes, but then ” 

“But what! Shure it’s aisier fur ye now, ma’m.” 

“Well, Bridget, I’ll see about this. Mr. Weathersby 


260 BIDDY FINNTGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

will be surprised to hear you are going to live with 
strangers.” 

“ Faix, an’ it ’id be surprisin’ to meself too, ma’m.” 

“Then you are not in earnest. You intend to stay, 
do you?” 

“ In throth it isn’t to strangers I’ll be going, ma’m, at any 
rate.” 

“ Do explain yourself better. I cannot make out what 
the puzzle is.” Mrs. Weathersby looked pleasant as she 
waited for Biddy’s reply. 

“ Well, to make a long story short, ma’m, I can’t stay 
afthur Miss Jerushy. I was wid her since she was the size 
uv a sod o’ turf an’ me heart is bruk to part wid her, an’ 
that’s what it is, ma’m. I’ll be goin’ bekase I want to be 
wid her; she is all the comfort I have,” Wiping the tears 
that would come, with her apron, Biddy gave way to her 
feelings. 

The maternal heart of Mrs. Weathersby was touched, 
by this tribute of humble affection and sincere attachment to 
her daughter. Wiping the moisture from her own eyes, she 
said : 

“ You grateful woman ! Biddy, it does me good to hear 
you speak so of Jerusha Ann. Don’t feel badly about 
leaving me. I am more than satisfied to give you up to my 
child.” 

“ Thin there is a pair uv huz plaised so, ma’m,” an- 
swered the domestic. 

“ Here, Bridget, put on your bonnet and shawl and go 
to market to buy something for dinner. Mr. Weathersby 
must have forgotten all about marketing to-day.” Mrs. 
Weathersby handed her a five-dollar bill, as she ^poke. 

Biddy Finnigan hastened to the market, where she 
began to bargain with the market women, for the various 


OK, THAT ROMP OF A OIBL. 


261 


articles she intended purchasing ; and by a system of diplo- 
macy peculiar in its kind, put the keepers of opposition 
stands pitted against each other, in the matter of price or 
quality, thus securing the greatest bargains for her money. 
Accosting a vegetable vender, she asked : 

“ How much is yer cabbages to-day, Mrs. Duffy?” 

‘‘Tin cints a head.” 

“ They looks foine. Dutch John is sellin’ his at th’other 
side for six cints.” 

“He is welkim to his customers, for it isn’t the quality 
that I’d put a tooth in his ould maggoty, scraggy grown 
heads, I’ll go bail.” Mrs. Duffy elevated her nose at that 
particular angle, that indicated supreme contempt for tjie 
patrons of the opposition cabbage merchant. 

“Thrue for ye, Mrs. Duffy. The laves uv his cabbages 
is in want uv a recruitin’ sargint, wid fife an’ drum to call 
’em together, while yours is fowlded over wan another as 
tight as wax.” 

This speech had the effect of lowering the altitude of 
Mrs. Duffy’s nasal appendage. 

Biddy Finnigan piled three of the best heads of cabbage 
together, and then proposed her price. 

“ I’ll give ye twinty-five cints fur these, Mrs. Duffy.” 

“Twinty-five cints? Not a ha’penny less nor thirty 
cints. Thim is the finest heads on the stand.” 

“An shure it isn’t the worst ye’d have me pick out. 
Here now, there is yer money, and the owld song says there 
is luck in odd numbers. Don’t be wastin’ yer time ; but 
show me yer carrots, me good woman.” Placing the cab- 
bages in her basket, Biddy inspected the carrots. 

“Arrah, will you look at the bandy-legged carrots? 
These are not your usual carrots, Mrs. Duffy, alannah ! ” 

“No, but they are the best ye’ll get, an’ they’re like 


262 


BIDDY FINNiaAN'S BOTHERATION; 


the singed cat: betthur than they look,” replied the 
vegetable vender. 

“ It’s aisy seein’ they wor behind the dure, whin beauty 
was given out. If himself had brought thim home in the 
basket. I’d take me Davy, it was from Dutch John he got 
thim. How much are they? ” 

“ Fifteen cints.” 

“Fifteen cints ! Wisha, it’s railin’ a rise out o’ me, ye 
are, this mornin’, wid yer jokin’. Here is tin cints for the 
lot.” 

“Where’s the use o’ yer hagglin’ about the price that 
way, Biddy? It’s not yer own money ye are spindin.” 

“ An’ that’s the riddle uv it, Mrs. Duffy. If it was me 
own, maybe it’s a betthur price I’d be payin’ ye ; but herself 
sint me to market, an’ I want to get the most for me money, 
do ye see.” 

Mrs. Duffy emptied the measure of carrots into the 
basket, received ten cents, and Biddy went on. Stopping at 
a stand where pork-meat was sold, she accosted the pro- 
prietor : 

“ An how are ye sellin’ yer bacon, Mrs. Mulrooney?” 

“ Fifty cints for that bit.” 

“ Yiz are dearer wid yer bacon at this side. Over beyant 
there, there’s wan Patrick Sheahey that has illigant bacon 
for thirty- five cints the flitch.” The mention of this rival 
excited the ire of Mrs. Mulrooney. 

“Is it that owld dried up codger. He never had a 
dacint flitch o’ bacon on his stand.” 

“ Faix, I seen as fine a flitch o’ belly bacon ; a streek 
o’ fat an’ a streek o’ lane, cheek be jowl wid as foine a lot o’ 
pig’s crubeens as iver I seen in my loife, on his stand, as I 
passed.” 

“ An’ why didn’t ye buy it?” 


OR, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


263 


‘‘Is it me go back o’ me owld frinds. No in throth ; 
but it’s keepin’ me money in me fist, I’d be, if he was to 
offer me the Royal Bank, fur tuppence ha’penny, an’ you to 
have it fur sale ; though Pat Sheahey is a civil spoken 
obligin’ soart uv a man.” 

^ Mrs. Mulrooney felt enraged at the compliments paid 
her competitor. “Civil spoken, enyagh? Sorra’s cure to 
him. He’ll not come to me fur wan o’ me spare Hbs, but 
it’s thrapsin to the field o’ Watherloo he’d be, to find it 
afore he’d give me a chance, an’ me gettin’ me tindhurlines 
from him every day.” 

“ I looked for betther nor that from him, an* it’s sorry I 
am to hear he trates ye that way, Mrs. Mulrooney, for yer 
desarvin’ o’ betther tratemint.” 

“ Here wid yer basket, Biddy, ye can have this bit o’ 
bacon for thirty-five cints.” As Mrs. Mulrooney gave 
change for a dollar bill she communicated a secret bit of 
intelligence, concerning her commercial rival. 

“ Arrah, what more could ye expect uv him? Shure he 
is a thatcher’s son.” 

“ A thatcher’s son? God help huz. Ha, thin, that tells 
the story, Mrs. Mulrooney, alanah ! ” 

Biddy next inspected a lot of dressed chickens, but 
none of them satisfied her critical taste. 

“Have ye any chickens that’s fit for roastin’, Mrs. 
Walsh? ” 

“ Yis, here is a foine big wan, I’ll give you for forty 
cints.” 

“ I’d be sorry to rob ye o’ that wan, fur he looks as if he 
was in the ark wid Noah, an’ the tint o’ the fiood is hangin’ 
to his skin.” 

“ Well, here is a hin. How will this do?” 

“ Give it here. It’ll not crack undher the wing, ye see. 


264 BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHERATION; 

Faix, I have too much respect furowld age, to think o’roast- 
in’ the loikes o’ that wan.” 

“Well, pick for yerself.” 

“ I could pick wan aisy enough if I had it to pick, but 
ye see yerself it’s not to the fore, the wan I’m wantin.’ This 
wan wid the gray legs is the best uv ’em, but give me a 
yallah-legged chickin fur roastin’. Open the box behind ye, 
and maybe I’ll find wan wid a thin grizzle breast-bone, 
tindhur wings, yallah legs, plump an’ fair-skinned, an’ tidy 
lookin; I wouldn’t give ye a thraneen fur these yallah- 
pelted, half-starved, blue, mouldy- lookin’ fowls that does be 
offered for sale. There they are ; give me that pair, an’ here 
is eighty cints fur ’em.” Biddy grasped the pair in her 
hand as she spoke. 

“ Eighty cints ! These are choice, the best chickens in 
the market. I can get sixty cints a piece for them,” re- 
monstrated Mrs. Walsh. 

“ Well, here is yer dollar fur the two, an’ no more about 
it, fur in the matthur uv powltry the best way to do is, if it 
isn’t good, make the butcher ate it himself.” Placing the 
chickens on top of her well-filled basket, Biddy Finnigan 
returned home. 


265 


OB^ THAT ROMP OF A GHRL. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

Orange Blossoms. — Marrying Off a Daughter. — The Floral 
Banquet. — Biddy Finniganh Philosophy Con- 
cerning Daughters versus Sons. 

The day fraught with the change of destiny to two lives 
arrived. Eva Gaston was again summoned to act as brides- 
maid for her friend. Sam Weathersby had spared no expense 
in the arrangements for his daughter’s wedding. An elab- 
orate trousseau was prepared, but Jerusha Ann had the good 
taste to forbid the exhibition of her costly lingerie, remarking 
that this was not the first time in her life, she became the 
owner of new underclothes. 

The citizens of Mudville congregated around Bethel 
Church, long before the hour, appointed for the ceremony. 
When the carriages came with the wedding party and invited 
guests, a passage was cleared for them up the church steps. 

The bridal procession entered the church. Eva Gaston 
and her cousin Mr. Roosvelt, first ; Jack Carson and Mrs. 
Weathersby, next ; Sam Weathersby and the bride following. 

Jerusha Ann Weathersby was attired in a robe of white 
satin, with long court train, a point d’Alengon lace veil 
falling like a mantle around her ; orange blossoms and white 
moss roses composed the garniture, and diamond necklace, 
bracelets and tiara : the gift of her father were her jewels. 

Deacon Smithers performed the marriage ceremony and 
there was a visible craning of necks as the question was 
propounded : ‘‘Will you take this man for your husband.” 


266 BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHERATION; 

The bride’s distinct “ I will,” set curiosity at rest, and 
the ceremony was soon over. 

The music was the best ever heard in Mudville at a 
wedding, the organist having invited professional singers 
from distant cities. A tenor solo “Thou Hast Plighted 
Thy Troth at the Altar,” was exquisitely rendered, and a 
duet by baritone and tenor, composed by the professor for 
the occasion, pleased the congregation best. 

The bride astonished the assembly by stopping at the 
carriage door to shake hands with, and receive the congratu- 
lations of her acquaintances, whose slightest claim received 
recognition. Norah Shannahon, the milk peddler, was the 
first of these humble acquaintances, to offer her good wishes. 

“Musha, God’s blessin’ be about ye, an’ sind ye a 
happy life, an’ may ye live to ate the hin that scratches on 
yer grave, avourneeh !” 

A motley crowd pressed forward to offer congratulations 
to the bride, newsboys, market men, and people from the 
humblest walks in life, many of whom had been the victims 
of her practical jokes. Among the number was Hans Kip- 
pelheimer, who said: “It maks nuttings fun dem sausage, 
I gibs zwei mal so viel, you kemmed aus mit gliick.” 

When the guests assembled at the Weathersby mansion, 
they filled every nook and corner of the abode. 

A grand banquet was spread in an improvised bower, 
formed the entire length of the garden, which culled the 
choicest collection of flowers from the horticulturists. 

The center of the table was adorned by a miniature lake, 
extending a long distance down. This lake was formed of 
real water, upon which tiny boats, worked by unseen 
mechanism, were wafted, with their freight of bon bons, to 
the shore, banked with heliotrope blossoms ; and golden 
carp swam in the clear water, disporting themselves at will, 


OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


267 


and feeding from the hands of the wedding guests. A trellis, 
completely covered with roses, lilies, and variegated-foliaged 
plants, with trailing grasses interspersed, was the banquet 
hall, to which the guests wended their way, as the band 
played the Wedding March. 

The old fashion of breaking the bride’s cake on the 
head of the bride was the initial ceremony, and toasts to 
the health of the newly- wedded couple followed, and soon the 
clatter of knives and forks, and merry voices, commingled, 
and the ripple of woman’s sweet laugh made music to the feast. 

Amid the merry revelers, the voice of Mr. Gaston, 
asking the privilege of offering a toast, caused a lull, and he 
proposed the toast : 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, I propose ‘The memory of the 
late Miss Weathersby, whose good sense administered a 
merited rebuke to titled miscreants ; and the health of Mrs. 
Carson, whose marriage proves that true nobility of soul 
finds its home in the hearts of our American Girls.’ ’ 

This sentiment was cheered, and the groom responded 
in a happy vein, on behalf of his bride, asserting that he and 
Jerusha Ann purposed emulating the adhesive qualities of 
Spalding’s Glue, in sticking together. 

Professor Hoffmeister wielded his baton, and proposed 
the toast : 

“To Mr. and Mrs. Carson. May de crickets on de hearth 
hob rount so lifely, alse de grasshoppers at de revival.’' 

The professor’s musical friends sang operatic morceaux 
appropriate to the occasion, and Deacon Smithers relaxed 
his rigid antagonism to theatrical folk, as he listened to the 
delightful music. 

The bride was the merriest girl at the feast. Her gayety 
became infectious, and set the fashion for young girls to re- 
joice at their own weddings, a wholesome improvement upon 


268 


BIDDY FINNiaAN’S BOTHERATION; 


the funeral solemnity so often prevaling at nuptial festivities. 

As the hour drew near for starting on the wedding tour, 
the banquet came to an end. The bride donned her 
traveling suit, and, followed by a shower of old slippers, 
took her seat in the carriage, with her husband and father, 
to be driven to the train, for Sam Weathersby insisted upon 
seeing his darling off. 

The train pulled out, and the waving of handkerchiefs 
was witnessed by Sam Weathersby until a curve in the road 
hid the voyagers from his sight ; then he returned home to 
entertain his guests. 

When the last of the young folks had left, Sam Weath- 
ersby and his wife sat in their parlor, and as they looked at 
each other, each felt the void that had entered their lives. 

‘‘Well, Keziah, she is gone. This marrying off a 
daughter is a lonesome affair after all.’’ 

“ Yes, Sam ; but it must be ; and who can say how it 
will be with our girl?” Mrs. Weathersby heaved a deep sigh. 

“Jack is a good, honest, hearty young fellow, wife. I 
like him best of all Jerusha’s beaux ; but, Keziah, this old 
house will be dreadful lonesome now.” Sam Weathersby 
thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, as a means of 
keeping down his feelings, and continued in a reverie, until 
the voice of Biddy Finnigan broke the silence. 

“ Wisha, Masthur, darlin’, don’t be lettin’ throuble soak 
into ye that way, fur it’s only nathural ye know, as the 
owld rhyme says : 

Who can hindhur the cocks to crow, 

An’ who can hindhur the winds to blow. 

An’ who can hindhur my lover and me 
From roamin' across the deep blue say.” 

Looking up, Sam Weathersby asked : 

“ Were you at the church, Biddy.’' 


OB, THAT ROMP OF A GIRL. 


269 


“ Yis, sur.’’ 

‘‘How did she look?’’ 

“If the whole royal family was there, it’s the rose in 
the garden she’d be. But do ye mind the nathur uv her 
stoppin’ to spake to the poor people ? It’s many is the fine 
lady that has her pints, sur : a party nose, or weensby feet, 
or grand e^^es, or a complexion, or a queenly figure, or the 
loike ; but the heart is the clock that keeps the machiner}^ 
goin’ ; the nose, an’ the toes, an’ the arms, an’ the legs, 
is only the spokes to the wheel, but the heart is the axle, 
that turns ’em all to tune.” 

Biddy’s words gave comfort to her listeners, and she 
proposed employment to the lonely parents, that she hoped 
would cheer them. 

“ Mrs. Weathersby, ma’m, I cum to see if ye’d help me 
to soart out the things that’s to be sint to the poor; fur 
Miss Jerusha towlt me to be sure to sind the fiowers that 
were left to the hospital and her own poor sick, that she 
used to take dainties to. An’ maybe himself ’id give huz 
a hand, ma’m, at fixin’ the things, the cakes and goodies 
that’s to be sint to the newsboys.” 

“That I will,” replied Sam Weathersby, following his 
wife into the kitchen, and as he directed the bundles that 
were to be delivered by Caesar, Biddy Finnigan poured the 
oil of consolation on the troubled waters, by remarking: 
“ Share, she’ll be the same to yiz as she ever was, for it’s as 
thrue as gospel : 

A son is a son till he marries a wife, 

But a daughthur is a daughthur all the days of her life.’* 


270 


BIDDY FINNIGAN’S BOTHEEAllON ; 


CONCLUSION. 

Into every life some drops of rain will fall. Jerusha 
Ann experienced a reverse of fortune soon after her mar- 
riage. 

Sam Weathersby’s health declining, he took a trip to 
Europe, with his wife. Jack Carson failed in business 
through the dishonesty of Alphonse Fitzdoodledom. When 
the crash came. Jack came home and told his wife how 
deeply he was involved. It was in the time of adversity 
the true nobility of his wife’s character came to view. 

Without a murmur she relinquished her elegant home, 
sold her jewels and moved into a small house, assisting her 
husband to pay ever dollar he owed. 

When the plain furniture was arranged in her new 
abode, she said to Biddy Finnigan, that, though it pained 
her to part with her, she must do so, as she could not afford 
to pay a servant’s wages. 

“ In throth. I’ll not go. Divil a toe will I stur from ye, 
and sorry I am that misfortin’ come to ye,” replied Biddy 
Finnigan. 

“ But I cannot wrong you by taking your labor with- 
out pay.” 

“It’s manners to wait till ye’re axed, agrah. Do ye 
think I have no more feelin’ than a nettle that id grow in a 
quarry ? Faix, it takes a tough skin to stand the blasts of 
adversity, an’ it’s meself will keep the gale from bio win’ on 
ye, shure ; I’d ony ax lave to keep a cow, an’ I go bail 


/ 



“Wisha, its a quare way they has in Amerikay. In ould 
Ireland they does he sindin’ things up the spout, hut this is 
the first time in my life I seen things sint down the spout. 
Here goes I ” 


[ 270 ] 






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OB, THAT BOMP OF A GIRL. 


271 


we’ll have lashins o’ milk. There she is now : I bought her 
yisthurday, for the few ha’pence I had in the bank.” 
Biddy went out to let the cow in, and her young mistress 
was deeply moved by this touching fidelity of her humble 
servitor. 

Jack Carson found employment at his trade, but his 
young spirit was crushed by the blow of adversity. Not 
only did Biddy Finnigan perform the labors of a domestic 
gratis, but she secretly added to the family income, by 
many practical efforts within the compass of her ability. 
She raised poultry and sold eggs and butter. In disposing 
of her products, the tactics of a diplomat were brought into 
requisition. Biddy Finnigan avoided the old citizens, lest 
the ladies of society might gossip about the changed condi- 
tion of Jerusha Ann’s surroundings, and sought customers 
among strangers. The new postmaster was one of her 
most liberal patrons. She had been selling poultry and eggs 
to him, delivered at his residence for sometime, when his 
family happening to be away from the city for a few days, 
the postmaster paid her for the weekly allowance of butter 
and eggs, ordering them to be delievered at the postoffice. 
When Biddy arrived at the postoffice, she knew not where 
to go, but without betraying her business she inquired 
“Where is the delivery, where ye put things in the post- 
office, sur ? ” Being directed to the mail box, she muttered : 

“Wisha, but it’s a quare way they has in Amerikay. 
In owld Ireland, I heerd tell o’ things bein’ sint up the spout, 
but this is the first time in my life I seen things sint down 
the spout. Howsomever, here goes, an’ God speed ye,” 
putting the rolls of fresh butter in the general mail box, she 
watched them descending, and placed the paper bags 
containing the eggs in the same receptacle. She took her 
basket on her arm, and was walking away, when a number 


272 BIDDY FINNIGAN'S BOTHERATION; 

of infuriated men, wearing l^e livery of Uncle Sam, rushed 
upstairs, in quest of that young hoodlum. One of them 
addressed her: 

“Madam, which way did he go? You must have seen 
that young rascal that has been tampering with the mails? ’’ 

“ Divil a wan I seen, sur, fur I was attindin’ to me own 
business,” replied Biddy, and the men gave chase to a news- 
boy, who was running away with an orange he had stolen 
from a fruit vender, while Biddy returned home in the happy 
consciousness of having delivered her butter and eggs, 
“ without any wan bein’ the wiser.” 

By degrees Jack Carson began to climb the ladder of 
fortune again. Jerusha Ann invented a patent, which her 
husband made and improved, and sold to a railroad 
company for twenty thousand dollars. 

Sam Weathersby and his wife returned from Europe, 
and Jack Carson was admitted as partner in Mr. Weathers- 
by’ s business. 

Alphonse Fitzdoodledom did not long enjoy his ill- 
gotten gains. He forged a check, on a New York Bank, 
and was sent to the penitentiary for a long term. The 
dude’s wife obtained a divorce, and married again, a few 
months after. 

In the elegant Weathersby and Carson mansion, Biddy 
Finnigan, the housekeeper, superintends the servants’ labors. 
Mickey Houghlahan’s frequent visits, dame rumor says, are 
not to his cousin, but to Peggy Brophy the upstairs girl, 
about whom he has been spakin’ to the priest, intending to 
be married, as soon as the house and lot are paid for. 

On a certain Christmas morning, as Santa Claus was 
peeping behind him. Grandpa Weathersby gazed on the 
twins, Jerusha Ann and Sammy Carson, the peertest young 
ones that ever the sun shone on. 




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